


Fix You, Fix Me

by salishseaselkie



Series: From Within Our Broken Hearts [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Confrontations, Cunnilingus, Devotion, F/M, Forgiveness, Love Letters, Pride, Regret, Resistance, Sexy Times, Smut, Unabashed Sexual Attraction, cyclic behavior, unrepentant smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie





	1. The Approach

 

Esther Trevelyan was a woman of great taste. And Knight-Captain Rylen was a cut above the rest.

They had only recently taken the Western Approach, with Griffon Wing Keep somewhat intact. What they could not salvage for parts, they saved for study. Not that Esther was at all interested in that stuff. Scholars work. Niamh, her cousin, worked with such things happily, and Esther was content to leave her to it.

She was glad when Niamh was given the role of Inquisitor: it meant a chance to get away from Ostwick and her nagging aunt and all those male cousins, although she had been bouncing back and forth between home and the open road learning her trade for…years, it must have been. She had become quite a stain on the Trevelyan name, a fact that seldom ever bothered her. For what had the Trevelyans ever done for her?

But Ferelden was too boring, and Orlais too full of rotten stuffed shirts, so when Niamh took Griffon Wing Keep for the Inquisition, she had sent her cunning cousin to keep an eye on things while Rylen sorted out his men, as Cullen sent him wave after wave of recruits.

She definitely was keeping an eye on things. Namely the Marcher’s cleft chin, inked and strong…masculine. When he spoke, she watched it move, mold with his words, and even meld into his face when he gave the very rare smile. The stubble especially caught her imagination as it obscured the dark blue tattoos – how would it feel under her hand? Scratchy? Soft? Would his skin be sweaty under that helmet? How _did_ he manage to wear it all the time without so much as a complaint?

It was hot in the Approach – no one contested that. But one day, after the varghests had been cleared out of their water supply _again_ , she came back with her band of soldiers and she was sweltering. Simply melting.

She went to the barracks to strip herself of her armor – leather and knives and linen underclothes – only to walk in on Rylen in nothing but long cotton trousers. She stopped, hiding in the shadows. Her cousin would surely have turned tail and hid in embarrassment, stumbling on her way out – but Esther did not possess Niamh’s prudence. She watched as Rylen poured cold water over his head, washing away the desert stink. The trousers clung to his skin, and _oh_ , that arse was wonderful, with sharp angles and planes that heralded firm muscle begging for a squeeze. Water beaded down his scarred back, scars from burns and swords and daggers drawing a maze over his skin, but Esther was of the opinion that there was not a more beautiful man in all of Thedas.

She knocked quietly on the side of the door when she found herself satisfied with the view. Rylen turned and looked at her, eyes wide and wary. “My Lady?” The brogue of his voice, the _timbre_ , shuddered through her body. She had never wanted anything, anyone, like this.

She leaned against the doorframe. “It seems we had a similar idea.” He turned to put his pectorals and abdomen on display, and she still was yet to be disappointed.

He must have noticed her wandering eye, because his Starkhaven humor flickered out as his mouth quirked, almost a full-fledged smirk. “Am I too much for one so proper to observe?” She laughed at that. Clearly, the man did not know her very well.

She stood up, cocking her hip to the side. “Knight-Captain, you and I have a very different opinion about what ‘proper’ means…” He hummed his approval – Maker, she would _kill_ to give him a reason to smile.

“Perhaps we will have to compare notes.” His eyes searched the room and halted when they saw a linen towel flung over the bench. He patted his face and asked casually, “Did the beasts give you much trouble?” She shook her head as he looked at her for an answer.

“No more than the usual snap at my legs. And who could blame them?” She pointed one out, demonstrating with an elegant point of her toe. “I have an excellent pair.” Her gold-green eyes flickered up and watched his eyes wander over her form, heavy with curiosity. Then the interest was dismissed.

“A fine pair, no doubt. Any beast would be lucky to have a taste.” Wait? What? She puzzled over what he meant as he pulled on a green linen shirt. When he looked up at her, his face simply glowed with silent bemusement.

As she narrowed her eyes at him in true Trevelyan style, he simply raised his eyebrows at her as he slipped past her. “Better hurry, lass. Dinner will be quillback tonight, and you know how quickly that goes.” A hand brushed her waist as he sidled on past her, and Esther, for the first time in her life, was at a loss for words.

\- - -

Rylen of Starkhaven was much more weathered in the ways of women than most of his templar brethren. He’d frequented many a brothel in his youth, and many women had frequented his bed otherwise. But since he’d joined Cullen in aiding the Inquisition, he’d set his mind towards focusing his energies – he’d been known to his fellows as the fixer, and this hole in the sky needed all the resources and attention he could afford to fix it. That meant few diversions.

But since the Inquisitor had lent her cousin to set her trapping skills to good work in the infested Approach, Rylen had been more than hot under the collar. Soft, feminine glances beneath dark eyelashes, a quirk of the mouth when he looked at her, and every now and again, her gaze would take him in, swallow him up. It drove him wild, and trying to hide his interest grew more difficult as time passed on.

As he returned to his quarters, his penis throbbed, strained against his trousers. He wanted this woman, this noble who acted as if she were some desire demon with nothing better to do than prey on wanting men.

And he wanted. Oh, how he _wanted_. He began to untie his trousers, to set to task and have his _problem_ dealt with, but then he thought, why waste a willing woman? After all, if things grew uncomfortable between them, she was due to return to her cousin in a few months’ time. Having out their frustrations wouldn’t be such a bad use of their energies.

He stepped out of his quarters and grabbed a passing recruit. “Would you mind requesting Lady Trevelyan’s presence to my quarters? I have an…urgent matter to discuss with her.” The boy merely nodded.

“Right away, Knight-Captain.” He smiled to himself. He was the fixer, indeed.

He set to building a fire – dusk had settled on the keep, and everyone knew how cold the desert could get under the blanket of night. As the flames were beginning to catch, a knock on the door came. When he opened it, Esther looked up at him, hazel eyes watching him like a cat.

“Knight-Captain? You requested me?” Her hair was down in a long golden-brown braid, and her lithe body was clothed in simple dress: a brown tunic and light grey leggings with her normal black boots. She’d grown accustomed quickly to life as a soldier.

He opened the door further to allow her entry. Her eyes glimmered, a small, savage hope simmering under the surface. She’d made it clear from the start that she wanted him. That had been a month ago. And now she would get her desire.

But how to begin? “Lady Esther, you and I…we’ve been dancing around each other for a while now, and it seems to me that it would be easier if perhaps we…” She tilted her head up at him as he approached her, and his hand involuntarily went to her throat, taking a lock of loose hair and slipping it between two fingers. “…easier if perhaps we came to an arrangement. You’ve made it very clear how you feel about me, and if I haven’t shown you some requite, well…” His words ended in a wry chuckle, humored, but aching to show her his meaning. Her hand insistently took his, her eyes glinting wolfishly as she slid her fingers through his.

“Rylen, you said it was urgent.”

The way her tongue breathily wrapped around his name would bring him to his knees, but instead he brought the palm of her hand to his clothed cock and whispered huskily, “Is this urgent enough for you, lass?” Her eyes flitted from her hand where it rested on his erection to his eyes, and then to his lips, which she took hungrily.

Were she a predator, she would have devoured him, she was so voracious. Her fingers tightened against his sex and her tongue glided past his lips. He knew as she moaned against his mouth, as his fingers dug into her waist, that this would be no gentle coupling.

In which he welcomed.

\- - -

Esther smelled his musk, the smell of sand and citrus and steel polish, and she reveled in the proximity to him, rubbing her skin against his anywhere she could. But there was not enough skin, and too much clothing. The ties to his trousers were loose as they were, and so she slipped her hand beneath the cotton. No smalls. _Maker,_ the thrill of it sang in her head. She stroked him, firmly swirling the satin-like skin with the deft pads of her fingers. Hands grasped her waist, and they turned her towards his bed.

Her trousers came down around her ankles, and then fingers dipped into her dripping heat. He cursed behind her. “Maker, Esther…” He slapped her tight arse, and the sweet pain of it only titillated her more. Hands crept up to her hips and she half-expected him to take her right then when he bent her over and put her sex on display.

Her hands grasped the footboard, and his tongue found her slick folds. “Ah!” His mouth sought furious purchase of her swollen flesh, her vaginal lips and her tight clitoris fully attended to as he swept his tongue down and up. He feasted on her, plunging his expert tongue into her depths and tasting her sex. Fingers found her nub and circled mercilessly. She bucked in his hand, until he brought her flush to his face to hold her still.

Heat poured out of her like molten iron, and she wailed. Feet slapped the stone floor, and his erection glided into her, filling her and stretching her, then pulling out and slapping back into place. He took hold of her braid and pulled her head back to plunge his tongue into her mouth as his penis plunged into her cunt. His other hand took hold of her breast and kneaded roughly as he plundered her with his tongue and his cock. He tasted of her sex, and it was bliss, bliss, _bliss_. ****

\- - -

The end was drawing near and he thrust into her without pausing for a breath, but Rylen knew as he spilled in Esther’s clenching body that this would not be enough. He wanted more, even as release found him in white, hot spurts and his fingers dug into the swell of her breast. He’d hoped to be done with her. But she had been all too eager to take from him, as much as she had eagerly given.

Her arousal still dripped from his mouth as he bit her lip, and he rocked out his climax into her. It had been foolish, to spill in a woman he did not know, in a woman whose station was well above his own, but he couldn’t bring himself to withdraw.

Her body folded over the footboard as he pulled his wilting erection from her. He caught her in his arms and listened to her heaving breaths as she simpered up at him. “Where have you been all my life, Knight-Captain?” He gave her a half-smile as her hand cupped his jaw. She was something else entirely, to be so good-humored when she was so incredibly spent.

“Starkhaven, lass – not far away from where you’ve been, if I’ve been informed correctly.” He moved her to the bed and followed her as she crawled to the pillows. She slumped in and lazily drew lines over her stomach.

She was still wearing her tunic. And he his shirt. He removed it without a second thought, in hopes that she would follow suit.

She didn’t. She just kept browsing her skin as she languidly waited out the vestiges of her orgasm. He did his very best not to scowl. Instead, he bent his head down and kissed her thigh. He smoothed a hand up the inside of it and pursued more, despite the fact that it would take him some time before he could take her again.

But Rylen was a patient man.

Two fingers teased her, toyed with her labia, and she squirmed, but smiled in acquiescence. “More?” she purred. “You templars have impressive stamina.” He swept up the hem of her tunic to reveal her tight nipple, and he flicked the tip of his tongue on the pebbled flesh.

He murmured, “Not so impressive. I simply want to please you. It has been a long time since I’ve had a pretty girl in my bed.” Before she could ask how long, he took her nipple between his lips and sucked hard. She arched against the bed, threading her fingers in his short dark hair.

He curled a finger inside her, against the spongy flesh, to find that she still lingered on the razor’s edge. He heard her moan his name, and there was no sweeter sound.

He felt his penis slowly coming back to life, laying limp against the bed. Rylen took her other breast in his mouth and maneuvered his body over hers. His cock ran along the slit of her sex, and he rocked into her cradle, bringing back blood to his member.

\- - -

Esther was at a loss. This man had shown the barest of interest in her advances, and already they were building up for a second round? But there was an undeniable fire in his stormy eyes, a desire that she had a hand in stoking, no doubt.

His hands were doing wild things to her body, stoking her own flaming need, but when he looked up at her and met her gaze, there was something…something else. Not lust, not want, but _need_. The power of it nearly frightened her.

He pressed back into her, and it seemed that only moments ago he had come to his finish. But he was thick and rigid and formidable, and when he lowered his head to kiss her mouth, she did not contest him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed him further in, until he was balls deep in her. His mouth went to her neck and bit and sucked until she was sure she would be black and blue as he pumped into her, all ragged breath and masculine grunts and all the while _wordless_ , stoic as ever.

He lifted her leg onto his shoulder and smoothed a palm over her buttock before he slapped it again, and she gasped – so much pleasure, so much pain, and _Maker take him_ , he was relentless. The tip of his nose skimmed the shell of her ear and it was all she could do to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head.

Many men had come and gone from her bed – though not so many as her relatives might have thought. She liked it better that way – permanence was uninteresting to her. She had no interest in a lasting love. Soulmates were stable, boring – the torrid affairs she enjoyed were passionate and fleeting, though they probably hurt more, but the pain was worth the dizzying high of such lustful encounters in her opinion. Rylen would be no different, though his eyes led her to believe he wished something more of the stable variety. He would not wish that for long.

Rylen stiffened against her and clutched her body to his as he spilled his seed into her again – she could not forget to take her potion after she left, the one that Niamh had given her when she’d asked about how the Inquisitor and her Commander avoided pregnancy while there was a war on. She appreciated her cousin in this regard – Niamh never asked her questions about her illicit love affairs or reprimanded her for lack of responsibility. She simply gave her information to better guard herself and gave her sanctuary when things went south. She was one Trevelyan who was, in any way, worth her spit.

Kisses were littered softly along her throat, to balm the bruise that was more than likely present. Out the window, night had fallen, and the fire across the room from the bed was warm. His kisses slowed, and hands drifted slowly downward to pull up the blankets over them. A soft voice in her ear asked, “Am I too heavy?” She shook her head and laced her fingers into his hair as he settled in her embrace.

“No. This is perfect.” And as her voice drawled, heavy with sleep, she truly believed herself.

\- - -

When Rylen awoke, he was cold. The stars still shone through the windows, and the moons were high. The fire had gone out, and the sheets had been pulled back on one side. Esther had left. _Of course she had_. She was not one who would be wont to stick around and cuddle in the morning. She was a free spirit, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. Would he have taken her any other way?


	2. Poison

Venom pulses in her veins, bile in her mouth, vision blurring, and she convulses, sparks in her bones. She sees shadows over her, and Rylen’s voice calling her. “Esther?! Esther, look at me! Esther, can you hear me?” She tries to speak, to tell him, but it is only rasps.

Arms enfold her as soon as pressure wraps her leg. The bite wound throbs, tingles as the poison weaves its terrible thread through her veins. She feels faded, like the world around her isn’t real, but Rylen’s arms are tight on her.

She feels the air cool, and shadow comes over her as the ringing sound of the gate of the keep opens. Voices are murmuring, there’s shouting – something about a healer? A hand feels her forehead – fever, it must be; her head is hot. More murmuring. Darkness closes. Where…

 _Niamh Trevelyan stood by the flag post, looking out on the plateau. Her companions were intermingled with the soldiers Cullen had sent along to hold and maintain the keep. Along with the soldiers, at her request, was Esther. Her eyes, over the long journey, had slowly adapted to the bright sand that was_ everywhere _. She was trading in her new blades when she saw her cousin speaking with a man in uniform._ How is he wearing all that cloth and _not_ dying of the heat? _, she thought to herself. He wore a simple helm as well, and when he spoke, there was something…odd about the coloration of his face._

_She finished her trade with the weaponsmith and strode over to her cousin. Niamh smiled at her, a demure, genuine smile, and returned to her conversation. “Gather a few volunteers then, and we’ll scare off these beasts from the water supply. I’m sure it will be nothing to sneeze at.” The man – whose face was delineated with dark blue shapes on his chin and a long hooked line on his nose, as well as a deep scar across his right eye – nodded._

_“Perhaps for you, Your Worship, but I wouldn’t request it from you if my men felt the same. I’ll send some along as back-up…just don’t be surprised if they aren’t willing participants in your hunt.” Niamh laughed. Esther only furrowed her brow._

_She asked, inquisitively, “What are we hunting?” The man turned his eyes onto her, and Niamh flashed her another warm smile._

_“Varghests, cousin.” Then she seemed to catch herself. “Oh! Forgive me, Rylen. This is my cousin, Esther, my father’s brother’s daughter. Esther, this is Knight-Captain Rylen, Cullen’s second-in-command. He is formerly of the Starkhaven Circle.” Niamh gestured to Esther as she addressed Rylen once more. “Esther has joined our cause, for better or ill, and is quite adept with a knife, as well as with a well-placed trap.” An agent came and handed her a missive. Niamh blushed when she opened its contents._ Cullen _, Esther thought._ Typical _._

_Niamh glanced at Rylen. “Your superior has requested I approve some troop movements in the Exalted Plains. Find me at least two volunteers and we’ll venture out to the water hole.” Rylen saluted her._

_“Yes, Your Worship.” He glanced at Esther and bowed. “My Lady.” As he turned to leave, she called out._

_“Captain, is it?” He turned back and gave her a wide-eyed gaze. “Might I join this foray out into the field? I am eager to test my blade.” He hesitated, considering._

_“If you are willing, I see no harm in it. It is, after all, why the Inquisitor brought you out here, is it not?” She grinned. She was happy to see some action after weeks of boring travel._

_“Perfect! Where will we meet?” The knight-captain pointed down the steps._

_“By the gate, before dusk. That is when the beasts are most active, and that is when we will kill the most.” She nodded. She was ready to get to work._

Rylen paces outside the healer’s tent. Esther’s wound from the phoenix that had cornered her and her men is being salved and treated with healing magic, but her feverish state had, in truth, frightened him more than he could articulate, and it was a fear that ate away at his bones. He knows she would not desire his worries. He wonders if she even deserves them, for all the pain she’s caused him. But he’s to blame for this, and there can be no casting such blame when there is plenty to go around.

The healer emerges, a flame-haired man with a rasping voice. “Lady Esther is stable, but she will need time to heal. It took a great deal of energy on her part to withstand the phoenix’s poison, and her body is quite fragile now. I suggest you prepare her room and get her comfortable.” The healer bows and went to attend other duties.

Rylen snaps up a few errand runners. “Prepare a bed and a fire for Lady Trevelyan in her rooms, as well as a pitcher of water and towels.” So they go, without delay – Rylen, though a calm man in most accounts, runs a tight ship and has little use for lolly-gagging.

He enters the tent, helmet discarded and forgotten. His hair is plastered to his skin with sweat, his mouth is dry, and the air in the tent is stifling. He throws open the flaps to let in the breeze.

She is on a cot, under a wool blanket, and her skin is sickly pallid. She mumbles fevered syllables that mean nothing, except that he almost lost her today, and he wasn’t sure he would feel this gutting, wrenching twist in his belly, like getting kicked in the stomach, knocking the air out of him.

He places his helmet by her cot and places a hand on her forehead. Hot, even for the desert. Had it been recklessness? Had it been a desire to see the fight to the end? She was not one to retreat – or had it been the ambush of a ravenous predator, seeking blood and viscera and her dying screams? His blood runs cold at the thought, and his hand slides to cup her cheek, because he is a sentimental fool, and she is the breeze through the desert heat, catching him and calming him.

She is also just as fleeting.

_Dinner was rations – the hunters could only catch a few fennec foxes, good for their fur, but not much else. Their meat was salted and stored for bait, their innards given to the tanner for curing hides, and the furs were given to the quartermaster. Broth boiled, bread baked, and the bright scent of food filled the lower levels of the keep, attracting many a sniffing nose. One such nose was Esther Trevelyan’s._

_She descended the stairs from the upper level of the keep where she was keeping watch for messengers, and she peered around, looking through the crowd of soldiers finding seats at the tables set up._

_One face stood out – Rylen. He’d led the excursion out to the dunes, showing her where the water hole was, where she needed to go to avoid the darkspawn, how to kill a varghest, etc., and she’d not been disappointed. With the work or with their stoic leader. Challenges aplenty, if she was to have any opinion._

_She sidled up to him as he kept off to the side. He was letting the men have their fill before he ate. Again, she was impressed. She’d seen too many greedy, grubby hands grasping for more than their fair share. His sacrificial nature, however subtle, would not go unnoticed…or unrewarded, and she would see to that herself if she had the chance._

Haste makes waste, Esther _, she chided herself. She barely knew this man. She liked what she’d seen, and his quiet nature only peaked her interest – most men she knew were happy to talk about themselves, to brag and boast, and many had much to be proud of, but Rylen did not speak of himself much. Commander Cullen had done well in finding a second._

_“Not hungry, Captain?” she cooed as she stood next to him. He hummed in affirmation._

_Keeping his eyes on his men, he answered quietly, “A good captain makes sure his men are taken care of before he takes care of himself.” How boring. Before she could respond, he added, “Also, better to see if the food is any good this way.” The corner of his lip twitched, small humor glinting in his eyes. Sly man._

_She crossed her arms and turned to face him. “Afraid of poisoning, Captain?” He gave her a side glance._

_“Poison or poor cooking. Though Cullen sees to it that we are usually fed properly. Still,” he responded dryly. “While no one has died yet, I’d rather know what I’m walking into than take the chance of being bent over a chamber pot for a week.” Oh, she liked him. Cynical, stoic, just the sort of egg she liked to crack open and puzzle over, and with just enough good humor to draw her in like dragon bait. Shiny and new._

_And as she thinks this, she knows full well that novelty wears off. A two-way street – he will tire of her as well, if she can catch his interest. Hopefully, she can keep up a game long enough to do just that._

She is brought to her bed, and he is vigilant. The armor has been put away, cleaning saved for another time when her life is no longer in the balance. The healer has assured him, but she still looks so fragile – vivacious, nefarious Esther, who even with her cares and clothes tossed to the wind is in command of her everything. Her eyelids seem stained purple, her lips are pale, and she is still as stone. Her command has been commandeered by fate, and the feeling of such realization is particularly unsettling.

Rylen paces, he ponders, and always the same anxious prayer in his head, _Maker, please, grant her life, grant her survival, I’ll do anything…_ He peers out the window onto the dunes and watches the offending beast brought in over the shoulders of a few men. The hide will be sold to Val Royeaux and everything else given to the poison-maker – the whole beast is toxic; nothing can be eaten, not even the meat. He clenches his jaw. He wishes he could have been there, speared the damn thing himself, but then the phoenix would have no hide worth selling, and then they’d have a rotting carcass in the middle of their routes, attracting other native fauna.

A noise grumbles behind him. Esther… He whips around, expecting her to be awake, but she is still unconscious, mumbling and fidgeting. He strides over to feel her forehead. She is cooler, not by much, but enough that he can let himself hope.

Her mouth winces and attempts to form syllables. “Err…muh…ffff…ruh…rye? Rylluh…” He feels his heart drop into his stomach as she attempts what he hopes to be his name, but then she’s forming other nonsense sounds, and it’s almost too much to hope. He should have known he’d be the fool to fall in love, and he’s cursing himself, kicking and berating. _How could I let this happen?_ She’s already proven she cares little for his feelings.

He slides his hand into hers and squeezes. “Esther, lass, don’t you start depending on me now. You know that is where we both start getting into trouble.” And though he says it, he can feel in his heart it is too late. She is going to drag him down with her, one way or another.

_Esther had Rylen pinned up in one of the watchtowers, and her lips were wrapped around his cock. He had the watch, and she knew he’d be here. She was confident he wouldn’t be able to say no, and she was right once again. Once she had brushed her hand up against his groin, purring some sensual nothings in his ear about how wet she was with the thought of sucking him till he couldn’t stand, he was clay in her hands. The other sentries were elsewhere – no one suspected a thing, or at least she hoped. In all honesty, she wouldn’t care if someone knew – what could they do? Tell her cousin? Fat chance. Niamh left Esther to her own devices, and that was the reason they were even on speaking terms in the first place._

_The head of his cock was pearling with precum, and it was lovely, salty. His hands were in her hair, and she just knew those stormy eyes were watching her, taking her in as he gripped her, thrust in her mouth as he grunted. His arse was hard under her hands as she pulled him close, happy to please him, to take him and get off on getting him off. A man like him needed more pleasure in his life, something to smile about._

_Soon, he lifted her off her knees and bent her over the wall to gaze out on the moonlit sands, where the wild creatures roamed free and unchecked, unhindered by the heat of the sun. He tugged down her trousers and kissed the nape of her neck. “Esther, your mouth will get you into trouble someday…” His hand found the curve of her backside and squeezed. She bit her lip. She loved giving him control, letting him have power over her – if only because she knew she_ gave _him that power._

_He entered her, and there was no need to demand that he not treat her like glass. Rylen seemed to like to play rough, and he knew from previous encounters that she liked it that way. His hand swept around to her sex and circled her clitoris as he pinned her up against the sandstone. She bucked in his hand, always needing more, and he satisfied at every turn._

_She came, unabashedly and without holding back, crying out to the starlight. He clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her head back to expose her throat, biting gently down. “Not all of Thedas needs to know what I do to you, lass,” he whispered with a warm laugh in his voice as she descended. “Much as I like to know…” He took away his hand and slapped the palm of it on her bare flesh, the sound of the spanking resonating much louder than he’d anticipated, but the burn of it was sinful and lovely._

_She squealed and added, “Rylen, stop talking and fuck me blind.” Her need to drive him mad was sated. He bent her forward, pressing her breasts to the ledge and smoothing a hand up her spine to her nape, and he thrust hard and fast as he held her down. Her legs spread open, causing her trousers to hike back up from where they sat mid-thigh, but from the way he canted into her, she knew he was too close, too near the edge himself to slow and adjust. When he climaxed, he gasped and filled her as much as he could with his girth, spilling and rocking out the last of his orgasm._

_His cum dripped out of her as he pulled out and he drew a finger over her sex to feel the mixed arousal. “Fuck, Esther…” His voice reverberated down her spine, and the delicious feel of a well-performed romp sat happily in her bones._

_They pulled up their trousers, set themselves right, and she pressed her body against his as she kissed him wantonly. He smelled like sex and neroli and spice, and she could breathe him in for decades if she wanted. She murmured huskily into his ear, “I’ll be waiting in your bed tonight for another round…best you stay awake.” Her teeth closed on his earlobe, and she knew as he groaned that it wasn’t a difficult decision. He would come to her again and again, until he could no longer stand the sight of her._

_He put a hand gently on her throat as she bit the flesh of his lower lip. She pulled away, and his eyes were hungry, as unsated as they were when she’d untied his trousers for this little rendezvous. “I could say the same to you, lass.” As she slipped away, it occurred to her to wonder if she was in too deep._

Esther can hear the sound of snoring, but her eyes are too heavy to open. She heard his voice, the feel of his callused fingers grasping her hand, but she has not the strength to lift it. She wants to call out to him, to send him away, but her dreams chase her between the waking world and the Fade, and she doesn’t know what to do. She simply succumbs to sleep again, and she waits for her strength to return.

She wakes again to water being poured down her gullet. She drinks as best she can, but she coughs weakly when water accidentally goes down the wrong pipe, sputtering and making a mess. She finds she is strong enough to groan and frown, and her hazel eyes open to see who is caring for her. Her heart sinks as she sees the healer – her ego had hoped for Rylen’s plumping, had hoped he’d care for her enough to stay. But she knows he’s upset with her, just as she knew he would eventually be. She knew she would find a way to chase him away.

She finds the strength to ask, “Kn…Knight-Captain?” The healer places his hand on her vein to feel her pulse.

He smiles and answers, “The captain had urgent business to attend to, namely writing to Her Worship the state you are in. But it seems you are on the mend, to the satisfaction of all.” She tries to lean forward, but a ripping pain sears from her leg, and she gasps for air, gasps because to scream is beyond her, the pain beyond what any screaming could convey. The healer merely lays her back down and whips the covers back to inspect her wound.

It is putrid and yellow, and there is pus and blood, but the healer does not wince once, does not shy from her poisonous limb. Salves are applied, and fresh bandages, and she is given a draught that once she drinks it, she feels heavy and weak, and everything goes dark again…

_Rylen was walking through the short halls of the keep – most of the keep was out of doors, and the few usable rooms were devoted to stores, the kitchen, his room, and Esther’s room. He passed the latter, and saw that the door was ajar. He heard giggling, clearly Esther, but a more male sound vibrated from the sanctuary of her chambers, and he felt a sudden angry curiosity. He peered in and a quick rage took him in a manner he was most unfamiliar with._

_Esther straddled one of his recruits – mostly clothed, though her torso is bare with exception to the breastband around her bosom – and was sucking his neck, humming and sighing. The boy was simpering like an idiot, as if he’d never received such attentions in his life. Her hips were rocking against his, and Rylen momentarily marveled at the fact that he hadn’t torn the door down._

_His patience snapped. “Recruit!” Both parties looked up, eyes wide and fearful. He glared at Esther, but turned to the boy. “You have duties to attend to, am I correct?” The recruit grabbed his helmet and scampered out the door, muttering “Yes sir!” as he ran. Rylen spared only a passing look at Esther, and left, slamming the door shut._

_She did not follow._

_The night was cold without her in his bed, and though he felt foolish for it, he had hoped she would not wander from him. He had hoped he would be enough. He did not sleep, only lay on his bed with an arm flung over his eyes to wonder what he should do with her. He could not bear to keep her, not with what passions they’d shared in their short time together. He could confront her, but he wondered if she would care._

_Before dawn rose, he decided she would return to her cousin, even if it as sooner than they’d anticipated. Niamh could find her a new occupation in the Inquisition. Some job in the Dales or in Sahrnia. She’d like Sahrnia – lots of bad men needing her blades in their throats or a boot to their faces._

_Breakfast was cold, and he did not linger long – he did not want to see if he could stand the sight of her. He knew his mettle was not strong enough, his pride too weak. She was a force to be reckoned with, and he got burned playing with fire. He went to the officer’s tent and sat down to write to the Inquisitor._

_His lieutenant came and asked, “Ser, more varghests on one of our routes. Should I send a patrol?” Rylen nodded._

_“Send Lady Trevelyan to lead them.” As the soldier set to his task, Rylan began his letter._

_He would soon realize what a mistake it would be to send Esther out on this particular errand._

Rylen sends off the letter to Niamh, speaking not of his desire to have Esther reassigned, but of what had happened. Attached also is an official report on the attack, a copy for her and one for Commander Cullen, with much emphasis that Rylen had assigned her to this detail. He wants punishment. He sent her to the varghests, which ultimately turned into a phoenix, and he is to blame for her injuries.

He had been bitter. He had wanted her out of the way. They’d made no promises to one another, but he’d acted the jealous lover anyways, and so now she suffers for his injured pride. He stands and inhales. What has he done?

The healer comes in and says, “Lady Trevelyan is asleep again. She can speak a little, and her strength is returning. I order three weeks bedrest, in the very least, before sending her out again.” Rylen gives him a pained smile.

“Thank you.” He returns to his reports, but the healer doesn’t leave.

“She asked for you.” Rylen glances up.

“Hmm?” The healer shrugs noncommittally.

He repeats, “She asked for you. Or asked about you. Point is, perhaps you should keep an eye on her.” The healer gives a knowing look that makes Rylen sick to his stomach. People surely can’t know, unless of course the boy from the day before has said anything.

Rylen rises from his seat. “I have things to look after to. Good day.” The healer only bows in response.

Esther is still asleep in her chamber when Rylen makes his way down. Some color has returned to her cheeks, but she still looks close to death. Rylen takes the seat next to her bed and watches her.

His eyelids grow tired, and he remembers that he did not sleep the night before. The chair is not the epitome of comfort, but it is enough, and soon he is sleeping as well.

Esther wakes and finds Rylen slumped over in the seat next to her bed. Her heart aches. She’s done nothing to warrant such attentions, such care, yet here he is. No one has ever been so kind to her before. Ever steadfast a man as she’s seen before, and she almost hates him for being so good. There is strength in her limbs again, and she shifts in the bed – it is too warm and she sweats so.

The noise of her movement between the sheets rouses him from his sleep. Blue eyes look at hers and she braces herself for what is to come. But where she expects harshness, she sees only agony. There is a pause, like when an apple is thrown in the air and hovers for a split second, and then…

“I am so sorry-”

“I didn’t mean for you-”

Both of them stop and Rylen rubs his face, leaning forward. There is an apprehensive smile on his face. “Uh…Esther, I…I was not myself yesterday. I…this thing we have between us…perhaps we need to reevaluate the terms of our arrangement.” He looks up at her, and damn him, he looks like he’s waiting on her word to save his life.

She fiddles with her fingers. “Rylen, I’m…I’m not someone you want to be with. I’m fickle and I’m a stain on my family name, and you’ll never be happy with me…” He moves from the chair to the side of the bed, closer, his face pained but determined.

His voice is earnest. “Esther, I don’t want you to tell me no because you don’t think you are good enough for me. I want you to tell me no because you don’t want me, because you don’t feel something growing between us. I want you, Esther. I have been yours since your cocked your head at me and decided I was yours. I-” She cuts him off. She knows what he will say, but she doesn’t want him to save her. She wants him to want her for herself, and the person she is isn’t good enough for a man like him.

“Rylen, stop.” His jaw sets and his eyes turn to steel. “I’m tired, I have a grotesque bite on my leg, and I can’t…I can’t think straight. And neither can you. So let’s…let us think it over before we make any hasty decisions.” He nods curtly, and looks at the ground.

“Very well,” he acquiesces. “But we will speak of this later.” He gets up. “Please have someone find me should you need anything.” When he leaves, Esther wants to cry, but has not the ability to do so. She merely sits back and falls back asleep, and dreams of what life might have been had she behaved just once in her life.


	3. Setting Out

_Rylen_

_It comes time that we engage our enemy before they attain resources we have not the mettle to match. I require you back at Skyhold and request you leave promptly after reading this. Her Worship has approved our method of attack – Sister Leliana’s scouts are already planning their diversions for when we send in the bulk of our armies and Ambassador Montilyet is arranging the rendezvous with Her Imperial Majesty’s forces south of the Dales. According to our source, we should catch the enemy unprepared, provided we move quickly._

_Bring whomever you feel is needed, but do not leave the keep undefended. Inquisitor Trevelyan and her allies have proof positive that Venatori and bandits alike still seek to retake Griffon Wing. I suggest no more than a handful of men from your post._

_Rylen, I would also suggest that Lady Esther come back to Skyhold, provided her injuries sustained in the field last month have healed. The Inquisitor has matters of her own that she wishes to discuss with her cousin, and I have matters to discuss with you that I do not trust to pen and paper. Needless to say, while I disagree with you on who is to blame for the phoenix ambush, your ~~discretion~~ judgment has been lackluster, according to a few reports I’ve seen from your men. I am sure you know of what I speak._

_Please return with all due haste, Her Worship’s cousin in tow._

_Regards,_

_Cullen_

Rylen knew he was fucked when he read his commander’s letter. Of course his men knew about the tempestuous affair between him and the Inquisitor’s cousin. Of course they would voice their concerns to his superior. His only irritation was that they had not come to him first.

But why would they? What would he have said? And now the two of them hardly spoke, as she was confined to quarters to mend from her wounds, and she dared not ask for his company, nor did he offer it unprompted, and so now everyone was uneasy because he was uneasy. It was his heart on the line after all. Her unyielding soul gave him no ground to stand on, and so now he floundered about in his feelings like a man who’d never seen water suddenly dumped in the middle of the sea.

And now he had to go tell her that they were to travel. Together. Likely mostly alone, since not many of the soldiers knew how to react to Esther – all caprice and whimsy – and so they kept polite distance. She didn’t seem to mind much. There were a few who lent her their company, and that seemed to satisfy her.

He marched to her rooms- like it or not, her presence was required, and she was going if he had to carry her there. He came to the door and knocked brusquely. He would not feel. He would not give her an inch, but would act as the keep’s commanding officer, and that would be all.

The door opened. Her face was bright, but when she saw that it was Rylen, her face froze. “Rylen?” He folded his hands behind his back, standing attention like a good soldier.

“Commander Cullen has written me and informed that we are both expected to return to Skyhold. The Inquisitor means to begin her siege on the Arbor Wilds, and I am needed at the Commander’s side. As for you, Her Worship has matters that require more immediate discussion than simple letters might offer.” Esther frowned. “We leave at dawn.” He bowed curtly, and muttered, “My Lady” in brief parting.

He turned to leave, but her hand grasped his arm. “Rylen, I…” He turned to look at her. Her hazel eyes were wounded, but she looked at him in earnest all the same. She forced a smile as she cocked a hip, attempting familiarity. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” He knew what she meant. He knew she was trying to make him feel better, but he wanted an apology. No, not an apology…an explanation? A discussion? Boundaries, perhaps – he thrived on boundaries. He was not sure, but he knew whatever he wanted from her, she would not give, and so he wrested his arm gently away from her grasp.

“Dawn, Lady Trevelyan. At the main gate.” Without another word of protest, she let him return to his duties.

* * *

Esther watched and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She watched and felt the ache of knowing she’d done him wrong. The boy had been a diversion – he had been a charming sweet talker, and she’d not seen the harm in toying with him a little.

No, that was a lie. She’d known Rylen would have been furious – as he had demonstrated – right from the beginning. But he shouldn’t have been. So they had shared a few wicked nights of salt-slicked skin against skin and woken up not knowing where their limbs turned into tangled sheets, and then there were mornings shared that were even more powerful than the preceding nights. There had been no promise, no declaration of love, and yet she’d seen it in his eyes, every time, that look of adoration, of desire that was far more heavenly than carnal interest.

It was the price she paid for roping in an idealist. All this time, she’d told herself it was just fucking, simple rutting because what else was there to do in the desert, and all the while he was making love to her. But she’d known. She knew even when she was trying to convince herself otherwise. How could she not?

And to think, they were going to be stuck together for a whole four weeks as they traversed the continent, and nothing could stymie the anxiety that knotted her stomach. Four whole fucking weeks of that stoic politesse, that militant formality. She would sooner rip her hair out.

So she set to packing, and had her dinner brought up to her. Being on the mend meant bread and broth, but the cook had begun to slip an egg and some greens in the soup before sending it up for her supper, which she sorely appreciated. She had wondered why – every time she spoke to the cook, he’d bristled at her and given her the side-eye. Perhaps it was standard procedure. Perhaps the healer had ordered it.

She ate a little and drank the tonic the healer had ground up for her – it tasted exactly what she imagined deep mushroom to taste like – and a soldier, Mira, came and helped her take her things down to the stables.

She liked Mira. She was an older woman who carried around a great axe. She had a scar on her lip, and she had seen much of war in the past few years – she had even fought during the Fereldan Occupation, though she had not cared for the frozen wastes to which she had been assigned – a little hamlet to the south of Lothering. She was cynical and wise, but not beyond dirty jokes and having too much to drink. She’d seen much of the world and had many stories to tell.

Mira also understood Esther. She understood taking care of your needs, of keeping people at arm’s length. She understood that sentiment was not always a good thing.

Mira walked with Esther back to her room, quietly. They spoke of the trip, how long it would take and other logistics, but there was not much else. Mira was always quiet.

Then she spoke up a few feet from the door. “Lady Esther,” she softly addressed. She turned to face the soldier.

“Yes, Mira?” The woman had a small pensive scowl on her face, like she’s sucking on a sweet with a flavor she can’t place.

The pause does not last long. “You know, the Knight-Captain only looks out for our best interest. Inquisitor Trevelyan would not have agreed to let him take command if this was not the case.” Esther frowned.

She asked coolly, “And why do you say that?” Mira shrugged.

She responded casually, “There are rumors. But even if they are not true, he is a noble man, and is worth more than being shut out. He deserves to be cared for just as much as you do.” Esther bit back her retort. _I don’t deserve anything,_ she wanted to snap, but it was hard when people looked at her and only saw the nobility before the humanity. It was hard for her to tell them such things, when they would only take it as false modesty. _I am the black sheep, the renegade, the runaway. I am the stain on the house of Trevelyan. If anything, he is worth more than whatever fleeting affections I can offer._

Instead, she raised her chin and stated, “I will see you in the morning, Mira.”

“Good night, My Lady, and fair travels.”

Rylen was awake before the sun rose, so the chill of the desert night still clung to the walls of the keep. He slipped on his clothes, his chainmail, and his steel braces, followed by his pauldrons and his breastplate. His bags were packed, likely being saddled with the rest of their gear, and when he sat his helm in the crown of his head, he was ready.

Down at the stables, he assisted in bringing the mounts to the gate. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Esther limping down the stairs, the healer following her and giving her instructions on how to care for the wound. “…and you mustn’t let it fester. If you get an infection while on the road, the Inquisitor will have my head.”

Esther finally snapped at him, “Don’t flatter yourself! Niamh has better things to do than badger you about proper care of your patients!” The flame-haired man snorted and shoved a satchel in her hand. Rylen did his very best not to chuckle.

“Do as I say, young lady, lest you wish to perish from your own stupidity!” With a huff and a flap of his robes, the healer retreated back up the stairs.

Esther went to her horse, muttering under her breath and stuffed the satchel in one of the bags. Rylen listened, but said not a word.

The gate eventually rose, and Rylen, Esther, and four other soldiers clambered onto their mounts and headed out, the hope being to make good time, time enough to find the oasis marked on their maps and water their horses. Both Esther and Rylen, unbeknownst to the other, prayed very hard that the journey would be quick and that once they arrived at Skyhold, they would not have to see the other again.


	4. The Pass

Two weeks into their journey, and Rylen watched as Esther rode ahead on her horse. Nobility always seemed to have an elegance about them when astride their mounts, but Esther…she moved as one with her courser. She was grace and beauty, and she held her head up like she knew it.

All radiance, and yet they still were at arm’s length of each other. She’d said few words to him in passing as they made their way through the desert. They had two more days before they would see the Dales, but Rylen was going out of his mind. This impasse was an uncomfortable one, and Rylen didn’t know how long it could last before one of them broke.

They rode on under the evening sun until they came to a place where they could camp, along the edge of a cliff face where the wind was not as fierce and the wyverns and varghests less likely to find them. Tents were thrown up and Rylen set to task, bringing his few men to a large stone a pouring over the map. Esther was off tending to her horse, watering and feeding the mare as she whispered secrets in the furry ears and rubbed the pads of her fingers along the long neck…how he’d love to feel her fingers along his-

“Captain?” Rylen whipped his head back to the map.

He cleared his throat. “Mm, yes…where was I?” His soldiers looked at him quizzically.

A lieutenant chimed in. “You mentioned the possibility of bandits on the border of the Dales.” Of course. He remembered the reports of thieves preying on caravans.

He nodded as he swept a hand over the parchment, pointing out different routes. “Here is the main route. It is the safest way, but not necessarily the fastest back to the Frostbacks.” He gestured to a northern region. “Bandits have been reported here and here. Fortunately, we’ve not brought anything of great value, except for Lady Trevelyan. My hope is that she is new enough to the cause that no one takes interest in her, but I am opening the options up for discussion if you four wish to contribute. Which route should we take?”

A female voice piped up behind him. “The fastest, of course.” Eyes redirected to Esther’s face as she listened from behind where Rylen stood. “I can handle a few bandits, as I’ve demonstrated in the past, and there’s no reason else for bandits to harass us. Cousin Niamh and Commander Cullen await us for the siege on the south. We cannot delay.” Consensus murmured among their small band. Rylen felt a twinge of irritation.

He warned, “We cannot afford to underestimate the dangers ahead, and I will not be held responsible for any injury done to you.” Another soldier spoke up.

“Captain, Lady Esther has proved in the field that she is a formidable ally. Perhaps it is better to chance a few bandits than delay the movement to the Wilds.” The others hummed in agreement.

Rylen sighed. “Fine. We’ll take the northern road. But we cannot waste time. Once we get to the Dales, we’ll travel light.” He gestured to the mules brought for carrying extra gear. “There is an Inquisition post not far from there. We will leave what we can afford to do without there, and carry on to the Frostbacks with all haste.” He rolled up the map and dismissed his men.

As he walked to his tent, pulling off his helmet as he went, Esther followed him. “You should not think to coddle me, Rylen. I can take care of myself.” He growled under his breath.

“No, no…perish the thought.” She ignored the caustic tone in his voice as he pulled back the flap to his tent and stuffed the map in a knapsack.

She pulled it shut. “You act as if I am some well-bred lady who can’t lift a fork without assistance, yet the entire reason I am out here in the first place is because of what I am capable of, and you-” Rylen wheeled on her, not knowing what his intention had been, but he silenced her with a kiss, frustrated with how she couldn’t see, how she couldn’t understand, and how he failed to tell her. His hands cupped her face, cradling that which was beyond precious to him, cradling that which he could not call his but desperately wished to.

He knew she was strong and able. He knew her talents. But the thought of losing her…

Her body melted against his, and her hands slid up his body. She was sweaty, as he was, and her face was lightly coated in dust, but he’d have her like this any day – she would always be beautiful.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I know what you are capable of, lass. But I don’t…” Words fell short. How could he tell her? How could he say such things without making a fool of himself?

Her hazel eyes were hooded, but there was a glimmer of sadness beneath the veil of lust. And that was all it was for her. Lust.

He dropped his hands and whispered, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He pressed his lips together and gathered his composure. “I will not lose my nerve so easily again.” It was the Knight-Captain speaking now, not Rylen – the officer, not the lover. He turned his back on her and set to poring over his reports. “You should go. The soldiers know the rotations for tonight. They will inform you of when you can take watch.” He heard the flap close again, and he wondered if he imagined the sound of sniffling or if perhaps Esther – harsh, tempestuous, capricious Esther – was actually crying.

* * *

Esther did not know how it had come to this. Tears streamed down her face, she blubbered like a little girl, and she _hated_ Rylen. She hated him for making her feel like this. She didn’t want to feel attached to him. She wanted to be untethered, able to do as she pleased, but there was this _tug_ , this unforgiving _yank_ of the heart that brought her back to earth, back to reality where she had duties, both to herself and to others. Duties even to Rylen, though they were none which he asked of her, none that she in her right mind would feel obliged to fulfill, but there they were, and she was a Trevelyan, if only a begrudging one. She would see her duties through.

Night came with a howling wind over the dunes. Water was precious, and she slaked her thirst when she could, for morning would bring another long, hot haul across the sand. Heat made people crazy. She could not afford to lose her wits, especially with the Knight-Captain in her party.

She drank from her water skin as she watched the moonlit sand shift like legs beneath the bedclothes. She thought of mornings in Rylen’s arms – weeks old memories that sang alive in her veins. She remembered his lips on her clavicle, his teeth at her ear, his hands beneath her buttocks, and his fingers closing on her nipple. She remembered the long drive of his penis into her body, the harsh growl of his throat as he clenched his teeth, and the words from his lips that promised her all the pleasures in the world.

She bit her lip, reminiscing, and the aching tightness of her sex pained her. She wanted more. She would always want more, more muscle bunched under sweaty skin, more lips on her lips, more sucking and touching and fucking and rutting and sighing…

A hand on her shoulder caught her unawares, and she flinched. She looked at her assailant. It was one of the soldiers. “My Lady, your watch is up. My turn now.” The woman smiled, and she smiled back.

“Thank you. There’s been no change. It should be a quiet night.” A quiet night, indeed. She wanted him to make her scream, but still she knew it was a bad idea. She still felt anger, though it had dulled significantly since their encounter. He wanted her, but wouldn’t say, and she couldn’t say how she felt about it. Perhaps it was better to leave it unsaid. Perhaps it would come out eventually. But as her feet led her to Rylen’s tent, she couldn’t find the will to care.

She just wanted him to take her, and perhaps it would stave off the horrible dance of emotions in her head.

Rylen lay on his bedroll, lying on his stomach, his arms wrapped around a small pillow, and the blanket wrapped around his waist, exposing his bare torso. She knelt down beside him and touched her hand to his bare back.

Rylen grunted and he moved slowly, still half-caught between the physical world and the Fade. He looked up over his shoulder and his drooping eyelids opened enough to meet Esther’s gaze. “Esther…what is it?” But she didn’t know how to ask. There was too much between them, too much pain. She couldn’t ask him to take his clothes off and have her after all that had passed…after all she had done.

She whispered meekly, “I’m sorry.” Rylen’s expression was inscrutable. Two simple words, and the weight of them settled about them like a thick fog.

Then he sat up and faced her. “Lass, I…I haven’t been kind to you, and I…I simply wish we could…” But words failed them both, and Esther leaned forward.

“Rylen…” She brushed her fingers through his short hair. “Can we not talk? Can we just…” And as she leaned in, he tilted his chin up and accepted a kiss, gentle and unassuming at first, and then his hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, and it became a prelude.

Clothes came away – mostly hers, for Rylen was bare already – and there was a new tenderness that had not been there before. She straddled him, rubbed her clit along the ridge of his cock, and he held her hips, rolling his hips up beneath her. Her hands gripped his forearms, thick and strong with muscle, and his lips claimed her nipple as she leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulders. He was not rough with her this time, as he had usually been – he took his time and sucked her breast softly, and she praised him with mewls of pleasure.

She lifted her hips and her body swallowed his length greedily. They shared a gasp – she was tight, and he filled every crevice, every open space with his girth. Soon, she was bouncing in his hands, which floated from her hips to her breasts to her back to her hair – there was nowhere that he left sacred. He devoured her breast and turned her onto her back to buck into the cradle of her body.

His lips claimed hers and his tongue tangled with hers as he braced her against his chest. His pubic bone rubbed her clit, and he built her higher and higher, until she keened from the power of it. She threaded her fingers in his hair and pulled slightly as she orgasmed. “Oh, _ah!_ ” Her legs wrapped tight around his waist and he plunged harder, more frenetically.

“Esther…oh, Maker, Esther…” He bit her neck as he came, his warm seed filling her and dripping from where they joined. He planted slow, languid kisses along her throat, and Esther wondered if this was what it was like to be truly loved.

Rylen stayed where he was as his body sank into hers, and her legs slid down from his waist to his knees. She stroked his hair, hoping it was the appropriate thing to do, hoping this wasn’t heading down a wrong road. They would eventually have to talk about what had all transpired between them, but she did not fear it as much now, knowing that he would welcome her into his bed like this.

The descent from her orgasm left her sleepy and sated, and when she finally succumbed to slumber, the worries she had borne across the desert were drifting away.

* * *

Morning came, and Rylen was met with warm skin flush to his, the soft breath of a woman next to him, and when he turned on his bedroll, he saw Esther curled up next to him. The night before came back to him, memories more precious than he could say. There’d been a sweetness in her eyes as she watched him make love to her, a raw vulnerability that had struck him dumb, that had made him reevaluate their relationship.

Perhaps there was love there. Perhaps fear as well, but they would work on that, if she let him in. If Rylen could persuade her to trust him, to love him as he loved her.

He curled around her and kissed her neck, nibbling the sweat-salted skin, and humming contently. His hand slid down her arm and enfolded her against him as fingers lazily laced together. Esther made a low croaking noise – she’d never been a morning person – and her first instinct was to cant her hips against his, rubbing up against his morning erection.

Perhaps it had been an attempt at a playful shove, but the curve of her arse only served to inspire more lust. He nuzzled her ear. Much as he wanted her, they had a strict itinerary.

“Lass…we have to get up. We’re two weeks from Skyhold. We have to take down camp.” She grumbled and turned towards him, only to shove her face in his neck.

It had been a play at rebellion, to hide from the coming daylight and pretend she was still sleeping, but her lips found his throat and kissed his skin. He felt hot under his skin and his hands were moving of their own accord, one cupping her head and the other roaming her back. He heard her mumble, “I don’t want to…” Her hands slid down his abdomen, and he groaned as she toyed with him, stroked his sex and sucked his earlobe, begging him to give in to her morning sloth.

Rylen eventually found the will to pull away, kissing her mouth as he did. “Lass, we have things to do, and while I plan on rutting you first chance I get, we have to get a move on before the dawn breaks.” She pouted as he sat up, but as her hands grazed his backside in his effort to gather his clothes to him, he knew she wasn’t terribly upset about it.

Hours later, the desert was giving way to growing patches of grass and greenery, and soon they were at the edge of the Exalted Plains. They stopped at one of the Inquisition’s camps there and unloaded all that they could spare: tents, water skins, firewood, and mount feed among it all. They would travel along a well-known stream, where they would not want for water or for things to feed their horses, and there would likely be dry grass and wood that they could scavenge. As for shelter, there were caves in the pass – they would remain dry, and when they made it through, a scout camp awaited them on the other side to pick up more goods.

Rylen spoke with the commanding officer of the camp, who informed him that the pass was looking fairly clear from the few scout reports he’d received, but he offered to have their blades sharpened before they left, just in case. The small party slept under the stars that night, Esther well out of Rylen’s reach. He barely slept that night.

* * *

They struck out that next morning bleary-eyed and ready to be back in civilization. Esther remembered the tales of the Hero of Ferelden – wherever she was – and how she and her companions had spent a _whole year_ out on the road. She couldn’t imagine such a thing. She longed for a bed and for candle light…and a secluded place where she could drag her captain and have him again.

As her courser trotted up a hillside, following the man in charge of navigation, she looked back at Rylen. His head was bare, his short hair whipping about as the wind tickled through it, and he looked…placid. Peaceful. Like everything was as it should be.

He didn’t notice her watching him: he was far too taken with the fields that were slowly turning into deciduous forest, lovely greens and golds and ambers in the midday sun. She smiled to herself. She had not expected to be welcomed into his arms so tenderly, but he had, and she had reacted quite well for herself to such affections.

Affection. There was something she was not used to. The thought of it made her want to cry, to flee, to praise the Maker, to ask why, why me? What have I done to make you think I’m so special? She turned to face ahead, but not before noticing his mouth turning up in a smirk, perhaps a realization that she was staring.

Her face flushed – Maker, she was starting to act like Niamh – and fidgeted in her saddle, waiting for him to tease her.

He never did.

Nightfall came shortly after they had found a cave to camp in. Esther busied herself with making the fire, all the while contemplating the possibility…perhaps she loved Rylen too. It was too soon, she thought. They’d not known each other more than a few months, but perhaps it was possible…

She gazed into the flames of her labor, and hardly noticed the scrape of boots over the gravel as someone came to sit next to her. She glanced up and her eyes met the stormy blue-grey eyes of her captain. He stretched out his legs next to the fire and murmured, “Lass, don’t you think it’s time we talked?” Esther’s heart lurched and thumped in her throat.

She looked back in the fire and leaned back on her palms. “This is about us, I suppose?” It hadn’t meant to come out of her mouth so casual, so when she winced afterwards, giving Rylen an anxious look, she hoped it made up for it.

He smiled and placed a hand on hers. “Esther, I…” He pressed his lips together in a firm line as he stroked a thumb over her fingers. “When you were bitten, I thought…I feared I’d never see you again.” His eyes grew shadowed, sad almost. “I was still angry, but the thought of losing you made it irrelevant. My only care was that you would live, and give me time to forgive…both you and myself.” Esther’ stomach clenched. She didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve him…she felt like running. She felt like fleeing…but she didn’t. She only watched him, watched his eyes fall on their hands, full of chagrin and self-deprecation…and the tiniest flicker of hope.

“I never wanted to feel this way, lass, but you…” He pressed his lips together again, and his gaze flickered up to hers. “Could you…care for me?” Esther didn’t know what to think. She felt frozen, unable to react. Her fingers only twisted to tighten on his as she gaped at him like a foolish little girl.

“Rylen, I’m-” But she was not allowed to finish. One of the soldiers guarding the cave’s mouth began shouting.

“A bear! Get fire! Arm yourselves!” Rylen jerked to look towards the entrance, and Esther did too.

A great bear was snarling and snapping as the soldiers danced around it, trying to avoid its giant claws. Esther snapped up her knives and took a torch with her, bolting for the mouth of the cave. She heard Rylen’s footsteps close behind.

She dashed around the bear, avoiding a swipe of its big paw, and slapped its nose with the hot end of the torch. The beast reared up and moaned in pain, attempting to scrape of the hot ash. She skimmed around it, lighting the dry grass underfoot with the torch, hoping to smoke it out.

Having enough of her flaming stick, the bear turned around and came face to face with Rylen, who had snatched up a pike. The bear snarled and lifted a paw. Esther saw it readying its deadly blow and did the only thing she could think of to save him.

She dove past the big furry body and shoved him out of the way, only to feel the fire of the dagger-like claws rip through her canine leather armor and into her back. She heard a blood-curdling scream, and only as she hit the ground did she realize that it had been her. She cried out, feeling the sticky wet heat of blood and the whipping pain of her fresh wounds. _It just means you are still alive…the pain just means you are still alive…come on, Es, don’t you give up now._ Hands lifted her up from beneath her arms, and she sobbed. She was thrown over a shoulder, and the last thing she saw was the bear running off as the fire she’d started burned a great ring into the ground.


	5. Broken Cycles

Esther’s first love affair, like any other, was begun under the pretense that it would be romantic, that she would be swept off her feet, and she would be married within the year. Phillipe was a courtier from Jader who was spending time with cousins in Ostwick. He was handsome, charming, and could spout poetry from every known author on command. Esther had never felt so in love in her life.

That was, until Phillipe began to press her for more than stolen kisses beneath the ivy. He would hike up her skirts and palm her bare flesh, whispering ‘I love you’ over and over, and Esther, who was then fearful of consequences, would refuse to concede more. “I can’t!” she told him. “What if someone finds out? What of my reputation as a Trevelyan?” He merely scoffed.

He released her skirts, and they swished against the stone floor. “Perhaps my love is misplaced then. Are the Trevelyans not bold in deed?” He examined his fingernails and casually remarked, “Marchers are always so quaint.” Esther had reeled in the caustic nature of his words, and found herself wishing, wondering what would be so bad about giving into temptation. But her parents were devout, and if her father knew that she was dallying with some Orlesian ponce…any chance of a successful marriage would be ruined.

It was not Ferelden where she could do as she pleased. It was not Orlais were both men and women were brought up in the lap of luxury and expected to experiment with such things. It was Ostwick, and she was a Trevelyan, and good Andrastians did not risk unwanted pregnancies or undesirable maladies. It would be her head if her parents found out. So she held her own, and though Phillipe returned to her with apologies and wine, he persisted, and she refused.

Until one night she found him with one of the serving girls. An young elf, lithe and pretty, blonde and who had been with the Trevelyans for some time, Esther had never paid her much mind – merely smiled at her sometimes, bumped into her and had small conversations. The woman was, as far as she knew, kind and gregarious in every way.

But Phillipe was charismatic, and used to getting his way, and when she found them in the dark corner of the kitchens, Esther’s heart was shattered. Dishes were thrown, curses were spewed, and she ran as fast as she could when she saw the mess that she had wrought. Shame filled her, streamed down her cheeks, and in its stead, a nasty hatred came and burned her insides. The truth as Esther saw it was this: she was expendable, disposable, and Phillipe…as horrid as he was, who would come in his stead? Who would love her if not him?

A month passed. Flowers came, chocolates, wines, and the finest jewelry Esther had ever seen. Finally, she conceded to meet with him. His slate eyes were tearful. “What have I done to you, _mon etoile_? I have been a beast…can you ever forgive me?” Time would tell that she wouldn’t, but she would not remember that. She would not remember how she burned on the inside, full of hate and anger. She would only remember how he told her that he had only done it because she would not let him in her bed. “I wanted you, but if I could not have you…I let my dick rule my head.” His voice was harsh and self-deprecating, but she could hear the false reprimand. All Esther heard was that it was her fault. She should have slept with him.

That night, as Phillipe lay sleeping, Esther went to him. He grinned like a wolf as she disrobed, and his eyes feasted on her breasts and her bare thighs as she approached. To his credit, he made it easy – he was an accomplished lover, and he knew how to make her ready. But when Esther left his bed the next morning, the only thing she could do was cry.

* * *

Rylen waited through the night as Esther slept. She’d taken the elfroot essence tearfully after she’d been revived, wailed as he stitched her up, and she had fallen asleep quickly after she had been bandaged. Her eyelids were red and swollen from the tears, but she was warm beneath a blanket, and one of the soldiers had offered her brandy to dull the pain in concert with the elfroot. Now she slept, albeit fitfully, on her stomach, her fists clenched and her brows knitted. He watched her closely, waiting to see if she would need anything. The wounds were not deep enough to kill, but they would be painful and slow to heal. One of the soldiers had cleaned her wounds – Jeanne – and she had done a thorough job. He was confident that Esther would not suffer infection, but he watched her all the same.

Her lip quivered as she slept. Rylen stretched out a hand and lightly stroked her hair, finding it to be soft and cool. “Oh, lass…why did you do it? Why did you have to get in the way? My face is already battered and uglied – one more scar wouldn’t have done much…” But he hadn’t been ready for the bear to swipe. His shield had been lowered as he had watched Esther dance around with the torch and her dagger, as he had marveled at her prowess and her fearlessness. He had not expected the bear to turn and engage him instead. Esther Trevelyan had saved his life, fully willing to sacrifice her own.

Rylen was no stranger to survivor’s guilt. Starkhaven had seen its fair share of blood mages, and he had survived several raids on maleficar hideouts. His second raid, he’d seen many of his friends die in an inferno, screaming as they boiled and melted and perished. His saving grace had been that he had been appointed to search the side exits for escaping mages with a comrade – both had taken a hasty retreat to summon back-up.

He bore the weight of Esther’s wounds. He would make it up to her, or he would try in the very least. She had taken his heart, and now he owed her his life. It was a heavy weight, with a greater price to pay.

She stirred, whimpering as she did. Hazel eyes blinked, light eyelashes fluttered against her skin, and her mouth turned up into a grimace. “Mm…ah, aaaah-ow…” She tried to push herself up, but the pain of her wounds only sharpened. She winced, gasping. “Maker! …oh, Andraste, it fucking hurts…” Rylen placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Esther, lass…lie still. You need rest.” Her eyes, pained as they were, softened when she saw who was sitting next to her.

Amidst the pain, she mumbled, “Ah, and here I thought I was done getting injured by native fauna…” He smirked. She was picking up his sarcasm, and he wasn’t sure if he should feel proud or concerned.

“There’s always one,” he countered, smiling fondly at her. She smiled back. _Perhaps_ , he thought, _she might make it after all_.

* * *

Esther recalled the dreams of Phillipe vividly. She recalled the angry threats when she refused to see him. She recalled the nightmares of his knife at her throat. She recalled the angry sound of him, demanding she yield her body to him, that if she loved him, she would not deny him. It finally was that one day, he was called back to Jader, and when he came to say goodbye, she spat in his face. She hated him. She hated what he’d made her, but more than that, she hated herself for becoming less for a man who was not worth her tears.

Months passed, and he returned with hopes that she would be his again. She made sure he didn’t. When she knew he would come to her chambers, she arranged it so that a young bard was in her bed that night instead, one she’d had her eye on for some time. She knew he was trouble; he was a bard, after all, but she did not care, except that he had no scruples with jilting her former lover. Phillipe came and through the door heard the efforts of their laboring desires, nearly taking the door down in his rage. She remembered his cries in the night like they were only moments ago. “You bitch! You fucking Marcher whore! You are a stain on your family name, and you will never find a husband so long as I have a say! How dare you!” Before he roused the whole mansion with his ravings, he stormed away to his villa, packed his bags, and was never seen in Ostwick again.

Esther’s parents had questions the next day about the shouting the night before, but Esther remained ever stoic, never letting her parents realize how far she had fallen. Soon, the bard – Hugo – was returning, something she had not counted on, and eventually he persuaded her to take him as her lover.

It was not long before her parents discovered the intimate nature of her relationship with Hugo, and threatened to hasten her path to a life serving the Chantry as a lay sister if she did not end it immediately. But Esther had always been willful, and after having defied Phillipe, she saw no great loss in leaving her home behind as well.

But the life of a bard did not suit her. Esther had no patience for the Grand Game, and soon Hugo grew tired of Esther’s willful manner. It was when a trapper was hired to the lord of an estate that had also hired Hugo for his services. Esther performed the same trick again: she invited the trapper to her bed when she knew Hugo would catch her, and once more she received the same slough of curses. She left with the trapper, and from there on, the cycle continued – and always, always, the memory of their words haunted her. Stain on your family name. Whore. Charlatan. Slattern. Worthless piece of nug shit.

She, despite her rocky relationships, managed to learn much from her lovers, making her a duelist and artificer to contend with. It was why Niamh hired her. It was why she was sent to the Approach.

Niamh had stumbled across her in Val Royeaux on a shopping excursion. Skyhold required proper curtains, and the Inquisitor, with her entourage, wished to examine the cloth herself before ordering the material. Esther had been drowning in honeywine, cursing Phillipe, her parents, and the fucking Chantry for her miserable life. The cycle had been broken – she actually had to verbally break with a man, and it was the same run-through of insults and spitting anger. She was a wreck: no money, no man, and no home.

Niamh saw her from across the square, saw Esther Trevelyan, only child of the brother to the Bann of Ostwick, guzzling down cheap mead, a soppy heap in the middle of Orlais. Niamh had delegated the errands and ridden Esther back to Skyhold as quickly as possible, all the while feeding her water and biscuits.

They stopped at a tavern once and paid for a room. Niamh, always quiet, reserved Niamh, did not say much other than answering questions about the Inquisition. Niamh, though younger by five years, was level-headed and did not push for answers, which Esther appreciated. Years in the Circle made all the difference between her and Esther’s part of the family.

When they had settled into their room for the night, Niamh asked her to join. Esther had told her that she could handle herself, that she was good with a blade and had a smile that was even deadlier. Esther agreed, but Niamh said, “On one condition.”

Esther had blinked. “What is that?” Niamh’s bright blue eyes finally bored into her cousin’s gaze.

“You can’t run away from this.” Esther felt taken aback.

“Why would I-”

“I mean it, Esther. This is a commitment. This isn’t a safe haven. Everyone pulls their weight. You have to pull yours. In return, I will grant you sanctuary from the Trevelyans. They won’t touch you if they know you are with the Inquisition.” Esther fumbled for words.

“I…I suppose…” In the end, Esther had to acquiesce. She had little choice else but to do as her cousin bid her. She scoffed. “An agent of the Inquisition, eh? That sounds so formal, cousin…I will do as you ask.” And for the first time in her privileged life, Esther had a purpose that she could fight for. She would earn her keep.

* * *

Rylen watched as Esther struggled to stand. Jeanne had helped her dress, but there was still gasps of pain, grimacing, and Rylen had a choice to make. They had to get to Skyhold, but Esther’s wounds would slow them down. Unless…

He pulled the soldiers aside, laying the map on the ground next to where Esther sat, receiving a dose of salve on her wounds. Addressing the whole group, he explained, “Obviously the cards are changed. We cannot bear both a severe injury and make it in time to Skyhold. We are twelve days from the Frostbacks as it is, and delay cannot be an option. Either we carry on as it is or,” and he pointed to a small route above the pass. “One of us takes our fastest horse and marches for Skyhold with Lady Trevelyan. Little time for rest. There are streams along the way, but stopping for too long is not a good idea unless you want to run into more bears or worse. Any takers for the job?” Five pairs of eyes looked at him, looked at each other, but no one spoke up. He sighed. “Very well. Seamus, you draw a copy of the map to lead you and the others through and back to Skyhold. _I_ will take Lady Trevelyan and ride for Skyhold.” He thrust the map to the young man. “Now, who has the fastest horse? Or are you all going to gawp at me like mute twits again?” Esther, of all people, spoke, pointing at her horse.

“My courser…she was a chevalier’s steed. She’s carried a man in armor three times my weight. She’ll bear us and get us home with no trouble.” Rylen wondered what she was doing with a chevalier’s steed, but he did not ask.

“Very well.” He set to packing his things, and Seamus set to drawing the map. Jeanne fetched the horse, as another soldier – Marc, if memory served – helped Esther pack her things. His second lieutenant, Ella, stood at the mouth of the cave, keeping guard. When all was ready, Rylen hoisted Esther as gently as he could up into the saddle, her whimpers daggers in his heart as her back stretched and moved to shift up. Saddle bags were slung over and tied on, and Jeanne handed the captain his sword.

Rylen nodded to her. “Thank you for your hard work, soldier.” She nodded, and the others joined. “Ella, you do not delay one bit. Sleep only when necessary. Do not neglect the horses. Also, if-” Seamus placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Ella smiled at her comrade.

She saluted. “We’ll get home in time. Go, ser, and Maker be with you both.” Rylen wasted no time in jumping up behind Esther and reaching for the reins.

They trotted out of the cave, and Esther braced herself against him, stiffening to minimize the pain. He hoped this was the right decision, but had there been no rush to return to Skyhold, he would have held that camp for a month if he had to. War made a mess of everything, he supposed.

The climb up to the ridge took some time – the slope was all talus and sliding earth beneath the struggling hooves, but the courser managed to make it up, and from there, Rylen could see the rising sun. He had not slept that night. He had to stay awake, at least until Esther felt well enough to take the reins.

The ride was quick – Esther was right, the courser was fast and able, and even with their weight, she seldom faltered. Riding at a reasonable pace, the horse was a smooth ride, and he was glad for Esther’s sake, since the occasional bouncing seemed to cause her some amount of pain.

By mid-afternoon, Esther had taken the reins. She was likely still in pain, but Rylen kept hunching over and slouching, yawning in her ear and causing her to shoot him dirty looks over her shoulder.

Her tone was edged with irritation and a stifled pain. “Sleep, Rylen. I’ll find us a spot to water the horse, and we can carry on from there.” And as she clicked her tongue to goad the horse forward, Rylen rested his head gingerly on her shoulder. It did not take long before he finally found sleep.

* * *

Esther did not know what this man saw in her. She did not see why they had to race ahead – she would not have allowed them to be delayed on her account. But Rylen seemed to have a reputation for anticipating problems and minimizing consequences – something she no longer had a mind for. Her back ached, and if she moved wrong, it felt like she was being whipped, but she was acclimating, and it helped to focus on the road.

He’d asked her if she cared for him. She had so wanted to tell him no, tell him that she was no good for him, that she would ruin him, but even now, she had not the heart to tell him. For a start, it would have been a lie, and while she used to be very talented at lying, she found herself chastising herself for even attempting falsehoods with him. She’d tried the tried-and-true tactic of sleeping with another man to shake him off, but he still cared, still stood by her. What madness was that, forgiving a woman who could not even forgive herself, who could hardly conceive to keep him as her only lover? He’d stayed by her as she healed from her phoenix bite, cared enough to suggest an alternate route to Skyhold, and now he sacrificed sleep to ensure her safe delivery? Was she worth so much to him?

Her captain slumped against her shoulder, trying to ignore the dull ache of her wounds, Esther rode on, stopping only to water the horse and let her graze. When finally the sun was not far from the western horizon, casting lengthy shadows against the road, Esther shook him awake.

“Rylen!” He snapped up.

“Maker…” Rubbing his eyes, he asked blearily, “What is it?” She offered him a biscuit from her pouch.

“My mare needs rest…and we ought to stretch our legs.” He nodded and leapt down to the ground. He stretched, palms facing the sky, and all his muscles pulled tight, as if the Maker had him on a bowstring. Esther smiled to herself. It didn’t feel right, to think that he could want her for more than sex, but then again, her cousin was quite happy with the Commander, last she saw, and tales of the Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair had been on the tongues of minstrels for years…perhaps it wasn’t so far-fetched.

However, Esther was not one to throw herself into such things. She would wait and see, and she would hold onto her hopes, keep them safe. Difficult as it was, she was not a gambler with her heart anymore.

Rylen held out his arms for her to come down. She swung her leg over and gingerly lowered herself into his grasp. His hands were firm on her hips, and he pulled her tight against his chest, bracing her, both of them praying her stitches stayed in place. “Everything holding together?” he asked warmly, and she nodded. The pain was still there, and they would apply more salve to it, but in the meantime, Esther took that small moment in time, when Rylen held her and treated her with care and respect, and she thought wistfully, what if this is the herald of better days to come?

Perhaps she could let herself hope a little bit.


	6. Family and Foes

Forests gave way to craggy valleys, lined in ice and sharp rocks. It was odd to think that less than three weeks ago, Esther had been sweating her weight in water, for now all she could think of was how the icy gales bit her cheeks and nose, and how the sun’s warmth, once so overwhelming, stifling even, barely offered any comfort as the gusts coming off the snow drifts sliced at her exposed skin.

She and Rylen were cloaked in furs, astride her courser, and though she was warm enough, she was ready to have a change of clothes. Her stitches were itching – those were ready to be taken out as well. She wondered now if they would have been fine staying with the others, carrying on as normal, but they would not have known then if she would have developed infection. For all they knew at the time, her injury could have been fatal.

Rylen had not spoken much – it was often a trade-off between her and him, one of them in control of the reins, the other sleeping as they rode on. The few times they had, there had been a little affection spared, but not much. They were nearly out of biscuits and cured meat, and there had been little to hunt along the way. Water had not been a problem, but Esther longed for the taste of wine down her throat. Most of all, her horse was tired, and prone to snapping, which only provoked irritation from both riders.

So it was when the camps below Skyhold echoed in the valley ahead, and the stone towers broke over the snow-capped peaks, Esther’s sigh of relief was a happy one. Rylen stirred as he woke, and as they trotted through the camps of the Inquisitor’s Army, many sounded hails to their captain, whom they had not seen in months.

Rylen sounded in easier spirits when he muttered, “You’d think they all believed me dead the way they salute…” Esther hummed.

“The Approach is a dangerous place. It is not an unfair assumption.”

“Well, no one took a snap at _my_ legs, last I recall…unless you think this is all a fever dream.”

“Odd that we’d be sharing the same dream then, eh?” She looked back at him and smiled. He hummed his approval and rubbed a hand over her upper arm.

They made their way to the gate, which was promptly raised for Cullen’s second-in-command. They were met with stable-hands, who took the horse. Esther felt sore from riding, and when Rylen took her elbow and steadied her as she stumbled towards the stairs to the upper level, she worried that she might have lost some strength.

He passed her off to a guard in the middle of the main hall. “Take Lady Trevelyan to the Inquisitor’s quarters. She’s been wounded, so have a care, if you don’t mind.” The soldier nodded and answered with a quick ‘yes ser’, and she was whisked away as Rylen headed toward Commander Cullen’s office.

* * *

Rylen dreaded what it was Cullen had to say to him. All that had transgressed had been somewhat smoothed over, but Cullen didn’t know that. Cullen was fond of his lectures, and would not spare him the time. He would want to know that his captain had learned his lesson.

Rylen opened the door to his commander’s office. “Commander?” He entered and saw Cullen at his desk, reviewing notes.

“Come in,” as his curt reply. Rylen went forward and stood at his desk. Cullen set the piece of paper down and folded his hands to look at his second. “Rylen, I’ve been informed of some…interesting goings-on with your command. Of the many questions I might have, my first is why is it one of your recruits decided to write me about your…aggressive behavior? And why is it that he decided to mention your particular vexation with his…interactions with Lady Esther?” Rylen swallowed. He really didn’t want to discuss that little shit.

He groaned before answering, “Commander, I may have indulged in a few…indiscretions with Lady Trevelyan.” Cullen hummed.

“As I suspected.” He leaned back in his chair and set an elbow on the arm of it. “Rylen, honestly, that was uncharacteristically unprofessional of you.” His casual tone relaxed Rylen.

He loosened his frame and shrugged. “Ser, if I may, you and the Inquisitor seem to have a similar relation-” Cullen cut him off quickly.

“We established what we wanted from each other _before_ sharing our bed, thank you, and we don’t turn into rage demons when the other receives outside attention.” He frowned. “You cannot expect that Esther Trevelyan, with her history and reputation, was going to enter into a serious, monogamous relationship without some resistance, and no screaming and cowing the recruits is going to make that change.” He sighed. “I have reassigned the man in question to the Forbidden Oasis, but I am hoping that you and Esther have sorted out your-”

“It won’t be a problem again. You have my word.” Cullen arched an eyebrow. Rylen snorted and rolled his eyes at his friend. “We’re sorting it out, I swear.” Cullen only maintained skeptical eye contact. Rylen huffed and sat in the chair in front of the desk. An errand boy came in with a stack of parchments.

Cullen barked, “You there! Get your captain a plate of that stew from breakfast. And bring some seed cakes as well. He’s had a long journey.” The man left quickly. Cullen took out a bottle of wine and poured him a goblet of wine. “Drink, Knight-Captain. Let’s talk.”

* * *

Esther stood before her cousin’s desk and could hardly hold back the tide of angry tears. “You mean to say…” Niamh nodded.

“Aunt Agnes made it clear that she’d heard you were with the Inquisition. She wrote that she has found a marriage match for you after hearing you are no longer dallying with what she coined…men of ill repute, and requests you come home immediately.” Esther stood frozen in angry silence.

This couldn’t be. She’d left them behind. She did not wish to speak to her mother. “You…” she sputtered out to Niamh. “You didn’t write back, did you?” Niamh shook her head.

“No. I wanted to consult you first. I wanted to know what your reaction would be, and it is clear to me now what you want. So what would you have me tell her?” Esther blinked. What _should_ she do? If she refused, she would likely be disowned. But what harm would that do? She couldn’t acquiesce. The marriage match chosen…was not known for his savory nature, no matter his wealth.

Esther’s anger swelled within her throat, and she spat out, “Tell that hag she can keep her marriage prospects. I’ll not be party to her schemes.” Niamh’s brows furrowed in concern, her face fallen. She stood as tears broke over Esther’s eyelids and streamed down her cheeks.

“Es…” She put a hand to her arm. “I’m sorry.” And she was. She knew Esther’s mother was stubborn. Where else would she have gotten her obstinate streak? And she knew that Agnes had limited patience with her daughter’s disobedience. After this outburst, she’d likely never speak to her family again. But she stood to lose much by bending to her mother’s will – first and foremost, her independence.

Esther shook her head. “She should have denounced me years ago. I am a black sheep, a _stain_ on House Trevelyan.” Niamh’s other hand clasped her shoulder.

“No, Esther. No…you are a free spirit. You have always been the independent one. You can’t choose family. It’s not anything you can control.” She guided Esther to the couch and sat her down. A handkerchief was presented to her, and Esther sheepishly accepted. She daubed her eyes and nose, and blubbered.

“It isn’t fair. I didn’t want this. But I didn’t want to live in the Chantry…” Niamh rubbed her cousin’s back. Esther realized that Niamh had been in the Circle most of her life. “I mean…” She threw her a guilty look. “You’ve been locked away since you were seven…so you know how that feels.” Niamh smiled sadly.

“It is all right, Esther. The Circle is a haven compared to living under the thumb of Ostwick’s Revered Mother. You cannot be blamed for running.” She stood and walked to the fire, where a kettle was boiling water. As she poured some into a tea pot, she asked, “How was the journey?” Esther did not answer. When Niamh looked at her, her eyes narrowed. “Esther…Cullen spoke to me of trouble with Rylen and a recruit… He was amenable on the trip back to Skyhold, wasn’t he?” Esther pressed her lips together. She did not know what Cullen had heard, and she was hesitant to admit to anything.

“The trip was _fine_.” Niamh straightened her posture – looking very much like Esther’s uncle.

“ _Esther_ …” Esther folded her arms and sat back in her seat, slouching considerably.

She huffed and tossed a hand, attempting casual conversation. “I slept with Rylen, and we had an…arrangement. But he was getting too close, so I tempted his recruit into bed.”

“ _Esther!_ ” Niamh never reprimanded her. The sharp tone in her voice stung.

She raised her voice in turn, defensive. “The boy’s clothes remained on his body! But Rylen saw, and…” Esther rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know. Rylen and I are…sorting things out. I sustained injury on the road, and he helped heal me.” Niamh placed the pot on the table.

“Let me see.” Esther pulled her tunic over her head and turned. She heard her cousin’s gasp.

“Oh, Es…was it a bear?” She nodded solemnly. Niamh’s cool little hands smoothed over the stitches. “These look like they are itchy. Do you want me to take them out?” Esther nodded again.

Niamh went to her desk and pulled out a small satchel – the one she had brought when they had gone out to the Approach for the first time. There was a small pair of scissors and a pair of forceps, and Niamh pulled out elfroot essence and a cloth.

As she daubed the wounds, she asked, “What drew you to Rylen anyway? I thought you were done playing your games with men.” The first one came loose, and Esther dug her nails into the arm of the couch.

“Ffff…gah. I did – or, that is, I was. But Rylen… _shit!_ ” Then the next one came free. “Rylen was…new. Different. He had a quiet about him. Like a puzzle, sitting there, longing to have the pieces fit together. I – _ow!_ …I wanted to see what he’d be like. After that, it was just fun.” She heard Niamh clucking her tongue.

“Whoever stitched you up certainly knew what they were doing…and what about now? Is it just fun now?” Esther did not respond immediately. What was he?

“I…I fear to hope for what he could be. What _we_ could be.” She grimaced. “It doesn’t matter. It will only end in tears. As you said, I’m a free spirit. I can’t be tied to anyone in such permanence. It…” She petered off. She didn’t know what she was saying at this point. How could she say no to such a man? How could she believe that such a warm, devoted lover could bring about unhappiness?

But it wasn’t him, was it? It was her. She would find a way to ruin everything. She usually did. _Stain. Whore. Viper._ She heard them all in her head and believed them.

“Esther?” Niamh peered into her gaze with wide blue eyes that begged for answers, begged to understand. But how could she help her cousin understand when she didn’t even know what she was feeling?

She shook her head. “Are you finished with the stitches?” Niamh shook her head no.

“There are a few more.” Esther turned to show her cousin her back.

“Take the others out. I’m hungry, and I’m tired, and I honestly just need some time to myself.” Niamh nodded quietly and continued. When she was done, Esther said her thank yous, but Niamh stopped her.

“Wait.” Esther turned to face her before she descended the stairs to her room. Niamh stood, hands folded in front of her. “Esther, you might believe that you and Rylen are on borrowed time, but do you know what I see?” Esther did not answer. “I see fear in your eyes when you speak of him. I see fear that you aren’t good enough. I see fear that you are going to hurt him. Don’t. Don’t fear. Or, if you must, use that fear to steer yourself down a better path. Use it to be the person you think Rylen deserves.” Esther wanted to balk, wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t lie to the one part of her family who had _actually been_ like her family.

“You’ve spent too much time watching your peers in the Circle, Cousin.” Though Niamh looked crestfallen, Esther smiled and said, “I will see you off tomorrow when you and Commander Cullen go to wage your war in the south. Thank you for removing the stitches.” She descended the stairs and went to the room that had been set aside for her months ago to sleep and eat and, if the tears cresting over her eyelids were any tell, to cry herself sick.

* * *

Much as Rylen wanted to, he barely touched his stew. It was beef and cabbage, and normally he would have wolfed it down, but after the way Cullen had looked at him once all his feelings were out on the table, he didn’t know how he could eat.

The commander had looked at him with pity and concern, and spared no amount of remorse for the poor Knight-Captain. Cullen kept his goblet full, and the good captain drank until he could feel his cheeks warming and his toes were losing feeling. When he stood to leave, Cullen had said, “Rylen, perhaps the Arbor Wilds will do you and Lady Esther some good. Give you both some breathing room to sort out on your own what you might want.” But Rylen didn’t want to leave her to her own devices. What if she decided that she didn’t want him anymore? What if this… _thing_ that was growing between them withered while he was gone? What would he do if she asked to end their affair?

Of course, he’d oblige her, but all the same…his heart ached with the thought of another day without Esther. He’d known for some time that he loved her. He’d known that she was special long before that. How does one come so close to that and walk away?

Dinner was much the same: stew and seed cakes, roasted vegetables and blood pudding, and some Orlesian pastry filled with cream that the cook had wanted to try. He nibbled at his food, all the while wondering where Esther was. She was not present for dinner, nor did she join the large crowd that went to toast to an easy march and a thrilling battle at Herald’s Rest.

He finally managed to slip away and he wandered down the halls of the fortress to her room. He knocked. “Esther? Lass, are you in there?” He heard a muffled noise, and he pushed the door open.

She was curled up in her bed, blankets to her nose, and her eyes were red and puffy. She grunted as she realized who had entered her room. “Go away,” he heard her mutter.

“No.” She shot up from her blankets and glared.

“No? It’s my fucking room. I said I want you to go away.” Rylen stood his ground. She was upset, not at him, but at something else, and her eyes, glittering with tears, were a cry for help.

He tried to change the subject. “What did Niamh want?” Esther sighed and flopped back on her side under the covers.

“Nothing. Family business.” Rylen walked to the edge of her bed.

He touched a hand to her shoulder, and when she didn’t flinch, he asked softly, “Tell me, Esther. What happened?” Her eyelashes batted against her cheekbones as she frowned into her pillow.

“My mother forced my hand. She made a marriage arrangement for me, and I said no. I _anticipate_ that she will declare me dead to the family.’ Her tone was caustic and fraught with anguish, despite her flippant eyes rolling, inconvenienced by the machinations of a meddlesome mother.

Rylen didn’t know what to say, other than, “A cruel demand to make, that.” Esther shook her head and scoffed.

“No, it was no demand at all. She knew I would refuse. It just gives her a reason to officially cast me off, to wipe her hands clean of me.” How things did change, Rylen marveled. Four months ago when he and Esther were sniffing around each other, playing games and teasing each other to torment, she rarely spoke of her life to him. If he so much as asked her how she slept, she turned it into a game of wits and seduction. There was no compassion; they only played in lust.

Now, she was tired and through with games that had no bearing on their relationship. So instead of playing, of trying to bait her out of her foul mood, he slid up behind her and curled around her, pressing his lips to her neck.

“Lass, I’m sorry.” He didn’t know why or how, but she started shuddering in his arms, and sniffling turned into sobs as she slowly turned to press her face into his neck.

So they lay there, her crying and wishing, and him stroking her hair and kissing her face, trying to numb the pain. Soon, the moons were high, and Esther was asleep. As for Rylen, how could he sleep? They departed in the morning, following behind Sister Nightingale’s scouts, and he could not promise her he would return. Venatori and red templars awaited them, as well as dangers untold in the mysterious Wilds. Though he was an officer and would not see the brunt of the fighting, there was still a chance that he would be called on to serve, and he would not deny that calling.

As Esther slept in his arms, deeply if not peacefully, Rylen prayed he would return.


	7. A Small Prayer

Rylen looked every bit the second-in-command, in full Inquisition regalia as he and Cullen reviewed the troops. It was morning at Skyhold, and everyone was bleary-eyed – few had slept deeply the night before.

He listened as Cullen barked orders, demanded to know why a man’s gauntlets were rusting, and more than twice remarked on the askew nature of more than one soldier’s helm. “You represent the Inquisition Reborn, and our Lady Herald! Is this befitting of the mightiest army in all of Thedas?!”

“N-n-no, ser, but-”

“You were not permitted excuses. Set it right, and be sure it doesn’t happen again! We are the Inquisition. We cannot afford to appear sloppy.”

“Yes ser!” Rylen only smiled. He’d known Cullen since the fall of Kirkwall, and somehow liberation from Meredith’s thumb had allowed him to grow as both a man and a leader. Cullen was a man born for action, no excuses permitted _indeed_ and no prisoners taken. Cullen was an all or nothing man.

Rylen…strived to be. Rylen had been known as “the one who fixes things” in Starkhaven, but because of his compromising nature, he had not been promoted to Knight-Commander. He was willing to lend an ear to those who asked for it, for those who needed it. He saw the bigger problems. That was frowned upon in the Order.

That was why Cullen asked him to join the Inquisition. That was why Niamh sent him to the Approach. That was why Esther had sought him out. He saw the bigger picture.

Cullen went to his mount. Niamh held the reins on his forder, waiting for her beloved to sound the march. Ever they stood united, an army unto themselves, the ex-templar general and the apostate Herald, idealists and people of virtue. Cullen’s fingers brushed those of the Inquisitor as he took the reins, whispering something unintelligible to her, and Rylen swore he saw the girl blush.

It was odd to think that the Inquisitor was so young, but she was well-educated, and she had a temperament about her, a raw tenacity that drew the faithful to her, that sent her enemies bailing. Rylen mounted his own charger, when he looked out onto the crowd watching the soldiers form their marching line. Speaking of Trevelyans…

Hazel hair brushed over hazel eyes, and a pale green dress clung to a lithe body, rippling languidly in the wind. Esther regarded him with solemn gaze, stiff lip, and with a small kerchief – his – in her hands, clutched to her throat. It must have been hard, watching her cousin and her lover marching to war. It was hard to leave her. It was hard leaving her warm, still body in bed in the morning, knowing she would wake long after goodbyes had been shared.

To the Void with it. His gaze never leaving hers, he urged his steed through the crowd, towards her. Her eyes grew unsettled, wide as she watched him approach. But he knew what he had to do.

* * *

Esther had not expected Rylen to join her in her bed the night before. Even more unexpected were the chaste touches, the unassuming way he went about comforting her. The blanket had remained a barrier between them, ever a comfort to her, for she had been fragile and unwilling to partake in passion.

She had woken with the kerchief he had used to dry her eyes on his pillow, in his stead. The bed had been warm where he had slept, and she cried in the indent his body had hollowed out on the bed, wishing she knew what to do. She carried it with her to breakfast, and now she clutched it to her breast like a mourning widow. Was this love? Was this good? Would he come back? And if he did, what of them?

She shook her head as he followed Cullen to their horses. Where was all this fretting coming from? She never used to care like this.

 _What is he doing?_ Rylen rode his horse, dividing the crowd as he approached her where she stood on the steps.

“Rylen?” she murmured. He dismounted, and she felt the eyes of Skyhold on her, burning through her dress.

He smiled at her, that wry smile that melted her to her bones. “I see you found my handkerchief.” She folded it into her hands and tilted her chin up, wishing to appear ever proud and unyielding.

“Do you wish me to return it to you?” He laughed quietly, and looked down briefly, before meeting her eyes with a more penetrating gaze.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me upon my return.” He strode forward, took her hand, and kissed it, causing a small murmur in the crowd around them. Stormy blue eyes smiled back at her, amused with her stunned reaction. “You may wish to pick your jaw up off the floor, lass…people will talk.” He turned, devilish smile still stretching his face, and she swore she heard a tone of daring in his voice.

She snorted, stomped her foot, and called out, “Knight-Captain!” As he turned back to look at her, she flung herself into his arms and pressed a kiss – as sincere and devoted as she could manage – to his lips. There was a soft whooping in the crowd around them, but Esther cared little for the on-lookers. Rylen’s armor pressed into her skin and would likely bruise, but she didn’t want this to be their last. She wanted him to have a reason to come back, to fight the odds.

“Come back to me, Rylen.” Before she could stop them, the words tumbled out of her mouth, and she could not have cared less. “Promise me.”

He grinned, smiling like a little boy on his first pony, and whispered, “I’ll do my best, lass.” He kissed her back, deeply, sweetly, and Esther felt the bitter sting of goodbye biting behind her eyes.

She let him go, and he walked back to his horse, mounting, and always shooting glances back to her, the want in his eyes as clear as the blue in the sky. She felt a heavy ache in her heart, and she wished she could go with him, to keep him out of trouble. Turning, she walked towards Herald’s Rest, hoping to have an ale or five. Skyhold emptied, and with it, her cousin took the bulk of Thedas’s mightiest army to war, taking the man that Esther loved more than anything in all the world with her.

* * *

The army marched on, and Rylen was somber. In contrast, the Inquisition’s leader and its general both seemed in good spirits. They raced ahead of the army, chasing and playing as if they were not marching off to war, as if this were a leisurely ride through the foothills of the Frostbacks, as if they were squirrels chasing each other up and down tree trunks for the sport of it. Rylen did not blame either of them. Cullen had been a broken man for a long time, with a great deal of weight on his shoulders from his past mistakes. While formidable and tenacious, Niamh was a younger woman fresh from the confines of the Circle of Magi, and she had never been afforded many opportunities to do with her free will what _she_ willed. With Cullen’s wily sense of humor and Niamh’s slight rebellious streak, it was hard to look at them and find fault in their laughter, however dark their situation was.

Rylen made a half-smile for his commander when Cullen finally caught the reins of Niamh’s horse. He watched with a slight melancholy as Cullen pressed a firm, confident kiss to Niamh’s lips, who in turn was very generous with her affections. Cullen had done right by Niamh – he had set up boundaries, had asked what she wanted from him, and had gotten to know her before chasing after her. Rylen had not done so with Esther.

But he had been spurred on by her ardent eyes, begging him to keep safe, telling him the words she couldn’t say. He had found new life in her kiss, in her throwing off all ceremony and embracing him in front of everyone. Maybe it was mad, but perhaps there was love there. Maybe hope lived there between them after all.

Evening drew near, and the campfires were lit, game was roasted, and ale was shared. Horses were watered, and Rylen went in search of paper and a quill.

He happened by Cullen’s tent, hoping the commander would have some. When he heard low chuckles and the squeal of a woman being pinched, he thought better of it, and rued his commander all the same. They were going to be unbearable.

Finally, he found Cassandra, who had seen the display from earlier that morning. She handed him the paper, and remarked, “Rylen, you do know that our messengers will only leave after we make our war camps in the Arbor Wilds, yes?” There was a slight glimmer in her eye, a slight knowing, but he nodded all the same.

“Lady Seeker, I am well aware of the comings and goings of our missives, believe me.” She smiled, glancing at the firelight.

“May I be frank, Knight-Captain?” He scoffed.

“To say that you are often not, Lady Pentaghast?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

She leaned forward, hands tucked between her knees. Her tone was shrewd. “Your wit may serve you well here, but with Lady Esther, I assume it will take more than a few good punchlines to win her heart.” Rylen shook his head, unbelieving of what he was hearing.

“And what would you suggest?” Cassandra leaned back and laughed a deep, harsh laugh.

“Knight-Captain, don’t be foolish. I will not tell you how to woo your lady. I simply hope you have a better plan than making a scene on the steps of the main hall.” She folded her arms. “Lady Esther seems to fear for her heart. Or for yours. She will be difficult to hold onto, but if you are patient, and let her come to you, I sincerely believe there is a chance for you.” She stood and stretched her legs. Her hawk eyes bored into him and she murmured. “But you have to be willing to let her come to you. Trust me. I would know.” She took two steps forward, then turned as if she’d reconsidered. “Perhaps you could start by telling her the truth. Don’t ask for anything in return. Bare yourself to her and be open to vulnerability. She’ll appreciate the bravery of such a deed.” As she walked away, Rylen clutched the vellum in his hand and prayed for providence.

* * *

Two weeks after the army had emptied from Skyhold and its garrison, Esther sat in her room, clutching her knees. The twist in her heart, the knowledge of what she had done… _stupid, reckless, thoughtless…stain, slattern, whore_. She had to leave, she had to get out, to run and hide her mistake. Or, at least, what she feared had been a mistake.

She stood, hand over her belly. The potions, she had mistakenly left in Griffon Wing Keep, thinking that she had finished her romps with Rylen. As she opened the door to her room, bent on going _somewhere_ to escape the feeling of being cooped up, she blinked away tears. Her mother would have been so disappointed in her if she knew. Unmarried and unabashedly wanton, her life had been nothing but a game of chance, gambling with luck that she knew would eventually run dry.

The gardens were cool, and the clouds above were thick when Esther came to the door of the Chantry. She hadn’t seen the inside of a Chantry for years, but it was time, she thought, for some divine intervention. It was time she made peace with her demons.

The room was empty, save for a few pews and some candelabras. _Maker_ , she thought. _I know I have been an errant little twit, and there are few people in the world who have done worse than me, but…_ Her hand clenched over her abdomen. Life possibly grew beneath her breast, life that she had not intended, but life that she would ultimately be responsible for. She was a week late, but she still was afraid. _But I need the strength to carry on. I need to be better…for my sake as much as this little one’s. I can’t be so foolish anymore._ The stone around her was cold and silent, like the thoughts in her head, but the answer was clear as day.

She heard her cousin’s words in her head, she heard Niamh speaking of fear, and she knew what she feared – she feared herself, the destruction that followed in her wake, and what damage she was prone to wreaking when she did not allow herself to care.

_I have to care…care for Niamh, for the Inquisition, for Rylen, for our unborn child…_

_I have to care for me._

She lit a candle and said a quick prayer to Andraste, something she had not done in ten years – before the days of Phillipe and Hugo, before the animosity between her and her family took seed, and before her short destitution in Val Royeaux.

She stepped out onto the stone walkway, and as she did, she heard the rumbling of thunder, the pitter-patter of rain hitting the stone, and the drip of water down the roof. She smelled the petrichor from the garden, fresh and inviting, and she stepped out into the deluge. Rain painted her face, washed the tears away, and soaked her clothes. It was a cold rain, mixed with sleet and hail, but it gave her an odd invigoration. She was alone, she was possibly pregnant, and she, for the time being, had no one to turn to. But it was all right. For the first time in a long time, Esther felt…whole.

* * *

The red templars were making their retreat, and the Inquisitor had been delivered to the Temple of Mythal. Rylen convened with Sister Nightingale and Commander Cullen at the forward camp.

Cullen asked Leliana, “What have your scouts seen of the Temple? Do we know if Niamh was successful?” She shook her head.

“They have not returned as of yet. I expect them to return with news soon.” Cullen turned to Rylen.

“And what of our assault on Corypheus’s forces? How are our men holding up?” Rylen pointed to the map.

“We’ve been able to bottleneck the majority of their forces here and here. The elvhen we’ve encountered have retreated for the most part, so we’ve not been as hampered on those fronts. As for the Venatori, they are no match for Sera’s bowmen, but we’ve seen a few casualties to some formidable fireballs. On the whole, I would say we’re on our way to seeing a success in this field.” A scout came and tapped Leliana on the shoulder. She turned and the man whispered in her ear.

Her incredulous look peaked Rylen’s interest, as well as Cullen’s. “What? You can’t be serious…find her! Find her now!” She snapped her finger towards the Temple, and turned to the Commander and the Captain. “Inquisitor Trevelyan has disappeared, along with Morrigan and the rest of her party.” Cullen’s eyes widened sharply, and he snapped at Rylen.

“Gather a small band of men! We need to scour that temple for the Inquisitor!”

* * *

Esther was taking lunch in the garden, sitting with the Revered Mother. She had not told anyone of her possible condition – she meant that news to be saved for Rylen or Niamh, someone she trusted with her life, although she preferred to tell Niamh. That assumed that she was, in fact, pregnant, but she was afraid to approach the healer without support. She needed Niamh.

The Revered Mother looked up at the sky and murmured, “Such lovely weather we are having, no?” Esther hummed.

“Yes, we are.” Giselle looked to her, her kind eyes warm and gentle.

She took Esther’s hand. “You must miss your cousin.” Esther nodded.

“She is my only family. I would prefer her to be here, where it is safe.” Giselle looked up.

After considering the sky further, the Mother looked back and stated, “I have not met many people like Her Worship, but she has an uncanny luck about her. I would not put it past her to survive this ordeal, as well as those who accompany her to the south.” Esther locked eyes with Giselle, whose warm eyes were suddenly unnervingly knowing.

“What do you-” Then a door opened and loud, proud footsteps echoed in the garden. Who should appear out of the Empress’s former arcane advisor’s quarters than Niamh Trevelyan herself. Esther stood up straight. “Cousin! What…how…weren’t you in the Arbor Wilds?” Niamh Trevelyan, all whim and wit, grinned at Esther.

“Why, yes, we were, cousin mine…” She was followed by Morrigan, the Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Varric.

Mother Giselle stood and addressed the Herald. “Your Worship…you must have come by Lady Morrigan’s mirror.” The witch scoffed caustically.

She folded her arms and shook her head. “Mirror. You do the Chantry such credit…we came via the eluvian, yes.” As the witch went searching for her son, sparing little on formalities, Niamh looked to Varric.

“It might be a good idea to write Cullen of our whereabouts.” The dwarf winked at her.

“Don’t worry, Ice Queen. I’ll let Curly know we made it home safely…you may want to write your own little note to him too. No doubt he’s got Rylen and company tearing the place apart looking for you…” Esther’s heart turned at the mention of Rylen. She’d received word that a letter awaited her in her room – she had no one, save for him, who would write to her. She was eager to see it.

Once Niamh had left, Esther bolted for her room. A piece of folded vellum lay on her bed with wax pressed in the seal of the Inquisition. She sliced it open expertly and unfolded it.

_Esther,_

_I likely won’t send this until we make our war camp down south – Seeker Cassandra assured me that messengers won’t be sent with exception for urgent matters, but I need to tell you what is in my heart. I need to know that you are aware of how you make me feel, if only for my peace of mind._

_When we first met, you were a plaything, a game, and a welcome distraction from my duties as captain. That was unjust, as well as unworthy of you, and I pray you forgive me for it, even if it was the same for you. I don’t know what is in your heart. I hope – nay, wish with all my soul that you feel the same as I feel for you, but if you do not, it is only all that I deserve. I have not done right by you in the past, but I shall try now._

_Lass, I love you. I love you with every fiber of my being. I have never loved in my life the way I love you, and if I could, I would love you for every day for the rest of my life. It might kill me to do so. You may not feel the same way, and you may come to love another, and if you do, while I will suffer, I would rather do so knowing you are happy than have you be with me and know that you are miserable. Your eyes tell of such misery in your life, lass, and I will not allow another second of it as long as I am able._

_Whatever you ask of me, whatever I can be to you, I will. I love you, Esther._

_Rylen_

Esther’s eyes were swimming. She had had doubts of Rylen’s affections. She had been ready to raise their child alone if he had little or none for her- she would not be bound to one who would not devote himself. Here was the proof that it was not necessary. He loved her. He _loved_ her.

She didn’t need his love. She knew that. Years of filing through meaningless affairs had taught her that. But it was such a feeling – like Orlesian sparkling wine that fizzed from her toes to her crown – that filled her and spilled from her in a tearful smile. Actual, selfless love. Hers.


	8. Everything

Esther watched as the sky lit up green as envy, as green as the putrid evil that slunk in the shadows of their hopes and dreams. It was that underlying fear that now cracked across the sky and called the Inquisitor to her challenger. Her foe was ready to have it be done.

Her weeks since the letter from Rylen had been uneventful – only that she had learned she was not, in fact, pregnant, and upon inquiry with the healers, they told her that her injury must have delayed her cycle. The body, they explained, only had so much energy to expend, and her womb was secondary to bear claw wounds.

For Esther’s part, she felt foolish. She had told Niamh, but no one else, and Niamh was not a gossip, so there were no inquiries beyond the usual salutations from the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle and the guardsmen who had accepted her as a volunteer until the army returned from the Arbor Wilds. Still, she felt like she had rushed to the worst conclusion without much thought to any other possibility.

She was on her rotation, standing on the east corner of the ramparts, when the sky split open once more. She looked down, where the residents of Skyhold gasped in unison, clutching hands to throats, covering their quivering lips with shaking hands, and suddenly, there was a rush to arms and a cry to battle. Moments later, as Esther watched vigilantly, Niamh Trevelyan stormed out of the Great Hall, members of the Inner Circle in tow. Esther could not think to do anything but descend.

Skipping steps and flinging herself over the stone barriers, she called out to Niamh as soon as her feet hit the soft earth. “Cousin!” Niamh, clad in leathers and straps, laden with lyrium potions and an incantation journal, turned to the sound of Esther’s voice, only to have the wind knocked out of her as Esther’s body slammed into hers in an earnest embrace. The cousins embraced, and Esther could hardly speak. Corypheus, from all she knew, was immortal and would not be easily defeated, if at all.

Words finally found her, and she held Niamh’s small frame out in front of her to look her sternly in the eye. “Come back to me, Cousin. Please.” Niamh rested a hand on her forearm and smiled sadly.

“I will do my best.” Her face took a wry expression, and she touched a gentle hand to Esther’s wind-whipped cheek. “Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.” Esther scoffed. What a silly thing to say.

She jested, “A tall order, I think. But I will do my best.” Dorian came from behind the Inquisitor and lay a hand on her shoulder.

He murmured, “Niamh, darling, we mustn’t tarry. There’s a very bad man who awaits your doom, if I’m not mistaken.” Niamh sighed.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming…can’t keep my doom waiting, can I?” She strode to where Commander Cullen held the reins of her horse, and Esther averted her eyes as Niamh gave into his tortured affection, his hand cupping her cheek. Before she completely turned away, it did not escape her notice that his eyes were very red.

And the tears of their general was what brought her to the heavy reality that Niamh might not actually come back.

She returned to her post with a swollen knot in her throat, and she watched as Niamh Trevelyan, Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle, Herald of Andraste, and leader of the heretic Inquisition rode down the valley with her companions. She felt her lip quiver, feeling helpless, when she heard a soft voice behind her.

“Sweat glistening under the sun, fear and rage boiling like oil within my blood, it hurts, hurts, _hurts_ , but I must press on.” She turned and saw the boy – Cole – the fair one who was a little funny, who spoke in riddles and emotions that were not his own.

Esther frowned in confusion. “Are you talking about the Inquisitor?” He merely shook his head.

“Red, everywhere, glowing like lyrium, glittering like water, and sticky on my head. I must go home, must reach her, hazel and brash, my handkerchief in her hand, and her lips against mine. Must return for one more kiss…” Esther felt her face go white as a sheet.

“Rylen…?”

* * *

Rylen fought through the red templars, a small pack of stragglers that lay ambush on their journey home. Someone had hit his head with something sharp – he guessed an arrow had barely missed its target, and he thanked the Maker for that. There was blood elsewhere, his or someone else’s, but he couldn’t stop to think or to check. He kept slicing through his enemies, kept ducking and holding his shield hard against the onslaught. “Hold!” he cried out to his men, scattered among dead bodies and dying screams. A glance told him most of the casualties belonged to their enemy, which did him proud, but he was not so simple that he would let it go to his head.

His lieutenant called to him from his flank, and Rylen turned. The pommel of a sword came down on him, striking him across the face. He fell to the ground with a thud. The world danced around him, and then he heard a rattle of someone dying. Another thud, and his assailant was dead next to him.

Ella ran to him, but her words fell on deaf ears as the world slipped, as his consciousness drifted into the net of the Fade and his dreams. All he could think of was Esther in her green dress, clutching his handkerchief to her lips.

* * *

Cullen waited at the fortress’s ramparts facing the valley. Rylen and his company should have been back already. He ignored the slap of icy wind on his face, regretting not having applied beeswax to his lips to keep them from cracking. But he would wait, beeswax or none, for the return of his captain _and_ his Inquisitor.

Footsteps, light and careful, lighted on the stone slabs behind him. He turned and saw Esther, whose eyes were on the horizon. “He should be back by now,” she whispered. He offered her a sympathetic smile.

“Rylen’s tough. He’ll come back.” Esther, however, did not look reassured.

She started to speak. “Cullen, the boy – Cole – said something-” But then they heard horns from down below, horns bellowing for a medic. Was it Niamh? Cullen whipped his head around and saw riders approaching the keep. None of the horses were Niamh’s forder.

Hands slapped on the stone, and he turned to see Esther’s normally calculating eyes wide in horror. “Rylen!” She called down to the riders. One of the horses bore two riders – one, he could now see, was the Knight-Captain, but he was off-kilter. His partner was bearing him up, and as they drew closer, Cullen could see blood on his face.

He ran to the other side of the rampart and called down below. “Send for a surgeon!” As he ran down the stairs, he was quickly over taken by Esther, who was not so encumbered by bulky armor. She reached the horse before he did, and she extended her arms up to help him down. Ella, his lieutenant, lowered him down by his upper torso. “My lady, he has suffered a great head injury. We had a healer with us, but he was only just a novice. He needs a proper bed.” Cullen aided her in pulling his second off the horse. He looped an arm around his neck and ordered the lieutenant, “Take anymore injured to the healer’s tent. Otherwise, send your men to the kitchens for nourishment and rest. Then go see about setting them back on their guard rotations.” He looked over to Esther, who had Rylen’s other arm around her shoulders. Her face was crumbling stone; she was trying so hard to keep steady, but her resolve was every bit as weak as the man they held between them.

They walked him to the head surgeon who took him into the infirmary. As Esther made to follow, she was blocked. “No, my lady,” she said. “Must leave him be, to rest. It looks like a serious head wound, and some other broken bones. He needs healing magic as well, and that takes focus. Can’t have you breaking their concentration.” Esther’s eyes fell as the door closed.

Cullen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be all right, Esther. As I said, he’s tough.” But all she offered him was a small smile before she turned away and headed in the direction of the main hall.

Cullen eventually followed, following mostly the sound of his stomach – he hadn’t eaten in what felt like days. Then the sky turned and thundered, and suddenly all there was in place of the eerie, green Breach was a white scar clear across the sky. A small smile crept up his lips.

“That’s my girl.”

* * *

Rylen awoke to the sound of cheering. The room, though it took him a moment, he recognized as the infirmary. His body was sore, his lips were chapped, and his head hurt like a brick had been dropped on it. He slowly turned his head. On the left, there was a nightstand with a cup and a pitcher which, he assumed, was full of water.

“Too…sore…” He lifted his arms to push himself up, but he hurt too much. Then there was movement to his right, and a swift hand picking up the pitcher and pouring good, clean water into the cup.

A soft voice murmured, “There you are.” A hand tilted his head up. The cup was put to his lips, and water flowed, which he eagerly drank. He drained the cup easily, and then his head was laid back down on the pillow beneath his head. The blankets that covered his torso were pulled up to his chin, and Rylen could not resist the pull of sleep.

He dreamed. Of blood, of green grass and flowers before a cottage near a stream, he dreamed of red templars burning tents and spearing his men. Mostly, he dreamed of Esther, and her cool hands on his head, her soft lips on his, and her deft fingers stroking his hair.

He woke, but the stroking didn’t stop. Instead, it felt…real. And someone was curled around him. As his senses returned, he could pick up the scent of goat’s milk soap and lemon oil. He opened his eyes slowly. Grey-blue eyes met hazel. He smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Both of them spoke softly. Much had passed between them since his departure. Neither wanted to ruin a perfectly good moment. Esther’s hand continued carding through his short, wavy hair. She was propped up on an elbow, watching him intently. She likely had been for some time. He had always been a heavy sleeper.

Rylen tested his limbs. One arm was in a sling now – his shield arm. That was not such a bad thing. His head still hurt, but it was duller now. He remembered waking and taking elfroot potions and other nasty tasting healing draughts that made him sleepy. He remembered the taste of broth and the sound of his commander’s voice. He remembered seeing Esther’s face in the shadow of the doorway. It had been night then.

“What time is it?” he asked hoarsely.

She grinned. “It is a little after midday.” She snuggled in closer; the cot they lay on barely gave them enough room. “How do you feel?”

He groaned as he stretched sore legs. “Better. Groggy. Mmmm…I could do with some of that cider Cabot requisitioned for my assignment at Griffon Wing. That stuff’ll put you under the table before you can say ‘Andraste’s mabari’.” Esther smiled and huffed a quiet laugh. Her hand withdrew from his head as she settled herself.

She rubbed her cheek against the pillow before crooning, “I’m glad you’re back.” Rylen shifted to look at her fully. She _looked_ resplendent. With his free hand, he twined his fingers with hers.

Softly, he whispered, “I promised you I would, didn’t I?” When she rolled her eyes and started to form a smart comment, he leaned over and tenderly kissed her mouth. He smiled at the contented hum that slipped from her throat, and he reveled as one callused hand slid up his bandaged chest. Not one more word was wasted between them, but in that kiss, every thought, every fear, and every hope passed between their lips. She didn’t say in that moment, but Rylen knew: Esther was in love with him. And it was all he could do to keep the shit-eating grin off of his face.

* * *

Esther left Rylen to sleep. She did not tell him about how she’d thought she was pregnant and how readily she had resigned herself – no, embraced – a future with his child. She did not tell him how Cole had frightened her. She had not told him that she loved him. But she was sure she would, in time. She would tell him everything – every thought, every fear, and every hope, so long as he kept her in his heart and he in hers.


End file.
